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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893359">stay with him</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand'>junipersand</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Badlands Egg Arc, Dream redemption arc, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Philza Redemption Arc, Possession, Post-Exile, Pre-Tommy escaping to Techno, Resurrection, Villain RedVelvetCake, Villain Schlatt, Villain Wilbur Soot, Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), c!philza is a shit father, everyone has their own arc, he has a favorite and it's not the traumatized kid, mentions of blood sacrifices, villain badboyhalo, when tommy wanted to be happy god really said "no"</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:46:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All ghosts have a purpose to fulfill before they can move on - so what was Tommy's?</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://junipersand.neocities.org/Stay%20With%20Me.html">Choose Your Story Option Here!</a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Antfrost/VelvetIsCake (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit, Floris | Fundy &amp; Wilbur Soot, Karl Jacobs &amp; Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit, Zak Ahmed &amp; Darryl Noveschosch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Crow Cult's DSMP Favorites</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Arc I: The Sun Has Set</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every ghost had a purpose to fulfill.</p><p>So what was Tommy’s?</p><p>Wilbur’s spirit remained because he had yet to fulfill his duty as a father and a brother. His shattered existence was centered around fixing the relationships between him and his family. He did his best to talk to Fundy, he tried to reconcile with Techno, Tubbo, and Tommy, and he even spent quality time with his father Philza. For a year, he remained in peace with everybody around him and himself, and eventually faced his past. He took accountability for all the horrible things that he did. Wilbur found his closure, and now he was gone. He passed to the afterlife once he had done what he needed to do.</p><p>Schlatt’s ghost was dragged out because of Quackity’s attempt to revive him, but he lurked around and haunted others. Since he was no longer alive, the best he could do to the world was causing minor inconveniences. He snatched Quackity’s beanie and threw it in water. He raided Bad’s mansion and replaced all signs with obscene curses. He was all-around irritating. But even so, now sober, he learned to appreciate the people that once stood by him. He apologized to Fundy, Quackity and Karl. He bowed to Wilbur’s gravestone. He even thanked Bad for hosting his funeral when nobody else did. When he’d said what he needed to say, he was gone, hopefully to a better place.</p><p>But Tommy? It’s not that simple.</p><p>Unlike the two others, his behavior was completely different, and so was his appearance. Instead of his teenage self, who was hotheaded and loud before his death, it was a child the age of twelve, body covered in bandages and bruises. He didn’t talk. He could often be found beneath oak trees in the dark of night, curled up in a ball and sobbing softly.</p><p>Nobody knew how he died. They could only assume that he didn’t fare well during his exile. GhostInnit first appeared after Ghostbur made his way back to look for Techno and Phil – the same day he finally left the realm of the living behind.  Like a ghost, he just appeared and went as he pleased, but he never talked to anybody or showed up in front of people.</p><p>The first person who found first him was Techno. The blood god rarely stayed in civilization for too long, as he preferred to stay in the wilderness. As he made camp in the woods, roasted potatoes over his campfire, he heard soft sobs somewhere in the woods. Alarmed, he unsheathed his sword and looked around, only to find a child spirit curled beneath an average oak tree. Its body was translucent and unstable like static.</p><p>His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure what he was dealing with. He walked closer, raising a torch above his head.</p><p>Techoblade’s eyes widened the moment he recognized the red and white shirt the child wore.</p><p>“Tommy?” he gaped.</p><p>The child sprite looked up in alarm, faced blotched with tears. There were bandages around his forehead and neck, loose and uniformed, as if they were hastily done. Then, like a whisper in the wind, his form faded right before Techno’s eyes, like he’d never been there to begin with.</p><p>Later on, there were more sightings of the child-like ghost who wept alone in the woods, but would always disappear the moment he noticed he wasn’t alone. He always appeared in different locations every night. Sometimes in the Sanctuary, sometimes in the garden of Eret’s castle, and even sometimes near George’s house. It was never the same, but there was a pattern: he always was sighted under oak trees, and it had to be at night. During the day, he would disappear.</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo, when he received the news, did not believe them. He refused to accept that the boy he exiled was gone forever. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he might have indirectly killed the boy he called his best friend. But as Tubbo awoke during the nights, he was drawn to soft weeps coming from the forest near his house. With a lantern in hand and a jacket around his shoulders, he ventured out to seek the truth for himself.</p><p>It only took him a few moments to find the ghost. But this time, he wasn’t sitting under a tree.</p><p>Or rather, he was sitting by the <em>remnants</em> of one. The L’Mantree—the staple of L’Manburg, now gone after it was caught amongst the chaos by Wilbur’s psychotic breakdown during the war to overthrow Manburg. The Child Ghost wasn’t crying anymore.</p><p>Tubbo watched from a distance, bile rising to his throat. He didn’t want to risk having the ghost flee. But would he leave? They were best friends, after all—that is, before Tubbo exiled him that led to his death. Tubbo shook his head and watched the child.</p><p>Even if he’s not crying, there were lines of tears streaming from his eyes and down his cheeks. His eyes were blank, just like Ghostbur and JSchlost. He was on his knees, digging a hole in the dirt floor with his bare hands. The grass was overturned, revealing fertile dirt underneath. He kept digging with his bare hands, widening the hole until he was satisfied.</p><p>From his ghostly pockets, he produced a seed. He put the seed into the hole and covered it up with the soil he dug up.</p><p>Tubbo noted that his own face was warm and moist. His nose was blocked, forcing him to sniffle. The ghost turned to him, terrified. Tubbo froze in his spot, haven’t expected his cover to be blown. He thrust his hand out, legs breaking into a sprint, calling out: “Tommy, wait—” The ghost disappeared before he could finish. Tubbo stopped too late, his feet tripping over themselves.</p><p>He tripped on the floor, hard. The thump of the wooden path boomed in his head loud and clear. His mind spun as his misted eyes fell on the messy patch of dirt, freshly dug up and refilled. Tommy was here. Tommy was real. Tommy is a ghost like Wilbur and Schlatt.</p><p>And Tommy is <em>dead</em>.</p><p>Tubbo didn’t push himself up. He remained lying on the floor, fresh hot tears streaming across his face and into the wooden ground. The world around him distorted as he turned to lie on his back, his hands pressing to his face so hard that his skull ached. He was deafened by the high-pitched hum in his ears.</p><p>With the grief of his doings plaguing his sanity, Tubbo <em>screamed</em>. His roar pierced through the silent night, ruining the serenity of the nation that he led.</p><p>One by one, the lights in different houses lit up.</p><p> </p><p>If Dream had anything to say regarding the appearance of a child ghost roaming around the world, he didn’t voice them. Instead, Philza found a book and quill by his doorstep. There were no words written on it, only three sets of numbers.</p><p><em>Coordinates</em>.</p><p>It was a land far, far away; further than Philza’s ever been, even with his wings, but he knew he must go. No matter how long it took, no matter how far he had to travel, he would walk through fire to those very coordinates. He hadn’t been there for his son when he was alive, but he was going to salvage this mistake now. Tucking the book in his coat, he stormed around his house and packed food, clothes, wood, and whatever he would need. He must find his son no matter the cost.</p><p>On a boat, after loading barrels of supplies, he took sail. Flight was not an option for many reasons.</p><p>He needed to bring his son home.</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo had been scouring the woods every given night. To the others, he must’ve looked like a crazed madman. Unkempt hair and clothes, grime-caked face and a wild look in his eyes, he must have looked insane. But he couldn’t rest. Not when Tommy’s ghost was out there, alone and afraid. He was a shit friend when they were alive, and Tubbo could only cross his fingers that he could fix this mistake.</p><p>Some nights, Tubbo’s efforts were left fruitless. He would return to his house and slump on the floor, uncaring if his stomach growled or his mouth tasted like sandpaper. Eret and Fundy would drop by constantly to check on him, so that he was at least getting something in his stomach. They never left for long, always returning every two nights.</p><p>And some nights, Tubbo found Tommy’s ghost. His behavioral patterns began to change subtly—from weeping alone in the woods, to exploring the world on his own. Tubbo would find Tommy staring at his old house, how refurbished to granite thanks to Puffy. From what Tubbo knew, it was a prank that Tommy never lived to see. The house had been abandoned since, with shattered lanterns and snuffed out torches hanging lifelessly on the walls.</p><p>One time, he found the broken child walk the Prime Path, holding his own hand as he gazed upon the wonderful land with widened eyes. His face brightened in enlightenment, but the tear streaks never went away. In the small tunnel from the left of his abandoned base, he leaned on the stone walls, hugging his knees as he smiled at the sunrise grace his face. As soon as his figure was draped in a hue of golden sun, he faded into air, like he would always do.</p><p>Another night, Tubbo caught Tommy sitting on the jukebox by his base. He prodded the machine, his lips pursed, as if he didn’t understand how it worked. When he moved, loose bandage strands hung around him like ribbons. GhostInnit poked the slot of the jukebox, tilting his head as a black disc emerged from within. He removed it and examined it, narrowing his eyes at the disc like he’s never seen it in his life. Then, he tossed it aside, as it served no value to him. Not anymore. He disappeared when he deemed that there was nothing interesting around there.</p><p>At the very least, Tubbo now knew that Tommy didn’t remain for his discs. But what could he possibly want?</p><p>What was Tommy’s biggest regret?</p><p> </p><p>Philza’s frown deepened as his boat jerked when it collided with a rocky wall. With calloused hands, he opened the leather book, and squinted at the coordinates written on its only page. The ink was smudged from weeks of travel – from the harsh waves and salty winds. When he exhaled, his breath turned into mist in the foggy bank. Only the lantern on his boat was visible.</p><p>He closed the book and anchored the boat to a piece of jagged stone on the shore. Waves crashed onto the bank with white foam with rhythm. This was it. The specific coordinates that Dream had given him. It took weeks, months even—but he was finally here.</p><p>He would finally find his son.</p><p>Stepping onto the island, far from any society or other human contact, the first thing Philza noticed was the pungent stench of rotting meat. He’d braced himself for the worst on his journey, but nothing could prepare him for the real thing. He followed the stench, raising a flickering torch in the fog. The further into the island he got, the stronger the smell became.</p><p>Eventually, at the center of the island, he encountered a withered forest. Trees of various kind brought and grown in one place with care, but have all died since the residents of this island perished. Moldy apples littered the ground, melting into the dirt as there was nobody to pick it.</p><p>Near the forest were two buildings. One, a scuffed, cramped brick house with a rotting doorway, also made of wood. The other was a circular house made of a combination of different stripped wood. It only took him two seconds to recognize the craftiness of his sons: Wilbur made the wood house and Tommy made the brick one. But that didn’t fill him with any comfort. Dread only piled in his gut as he approached the one that was put together by his youngest son.</p><p>He dropped the torch the moment he opened the peeling door. A rotting corpse laid motionless on the floor, its flesh rotting away and revealing various parts of its skeleton. Bandages covered his skin almost entirely, with wounds that never had a chance to heal.</p><p>The most horrible thing was the iron sword in his stomach, impaled in the exact same place where Philza had run Wilbur through so long ago.</p><p> </p><p>Personally, Technoblade did not cry. He never cried. The last time he cried was when he was in his preschool years, where Wilbur wouldn’t stop painting his crown an ugly shade of green.</p><p>So why did these tears keep flowing down his face?</p><p>Techno wiped his eyes with his coat. The blood god did not cry for pointless things.</p><p>He didn’t cry when Wilbur was killed by their father.</p><p>He didn’t cry when Tommy disowned him as a brother.</p><p>He didn’t cry when Tubbo, the sweetest one of them all, forbade Techno to ever enter his land.</p><p>He sure as heck didn’t cry when his own father looked at him with horror, demanding why he dared to draw a sword upon his own family.</p><p>Yet somehow, he found himself tearing up whenever he passed by Tommy’s old home – the eternal reminder that their family will never be normal. They will never come together as a real family and act like one. The family portrait of them when they were all children was all that was left of their so-called family.</p><p>Wilbur was officially gone, and he would never feel the same way again. When Wilbur died, he remained as an oblivious albeit cheerful ghost, and wouldn’t stop pestering him and Philza to join him, Tommy and Tubbo for dinner. But he was completely gone now—up in the heavens with their mother. Techno could never wake up to an annoying ghost asking to spar with him as if they were still children.</p><p>Tubbo was now the president of L’Manburg, a form of government, and Techno despised governments. No matter how badly he wanted to think otherwise, Tubbo was now the enemy. He was not welcome in his lands and nor would Tubbo be a brother in his eyes again. He was sure Tubbo saw him the same way – he recognized the absolute disgust in Tubbo’s eyes when he walked past the borders of L’Manburg.</p><p>Philza had been gone for days. Techno went to visit him once, only to find his house deserted. The fireplace was cold and full of dust instead of ash and fire. In the cold lands, the house was no longer warm and welcoming. It was empty, just like his family. The father that was the only thing that tied their wavering family together didn’t manage to come and save his sons in time, and he’d paid the price for his tardiness.</p><p>Tommy was now a ghost, a shard of the teen he used to be. What once was a hot-blooded warrior who fought for his home was reduced to a fragile spirit who’d only remembered his worst nightmares. When Wilbur only remembered his happier memories, Tommy was the completely opposite, only remembering his worst. He saw only the worst in everyone, and that’s why he fled. Everybody around him hurt him in ways they couldn’t even imagine. Tommy was afraid of the people he used to call his friends and family.</p><p>Techno did not have anyone to care for. Not anymore.</p><p>He sighed as he placed a sole flower on Wilbur’s grave. Soon he would have to place one for Tommy’s.</p><p> </p><p>Phil got to his knees as he cradled the corpse of his son in his hands. Maggots wormed in his flesh without a care and the stench was unbearable, but he did not mind. He hadn’t been there for his son before. He only hoped that he could salvage what he hadn’t been able to do.</p><p>Somberly, he set Tommy’s body onto the floor and removed his coat. His eyes flicked to the rusted iron sword, coated with dried blood. The blade was hastily sharpened, as if Tommy had been desperate for the embrace of death.</p><p>Phil hung his head as he tore his eyes from the sword. He’d failed. <em>He failed as a father</em>.</p><p>He removed the sword with shaky hands and tossed it aside, the moldy handle burning his skin. He laid his son’s corpse on his coat and wrapped it around him.</p><p>He needed to return. Tubbo and Techno deserved one last farewell.</p><p>The door opened wider the moment Phil picked up Tommy’s body. He turned to the entrance, his eyes widening but he was careful to not drop his son.</p><p>“What are you doing here, dad?” Child Tommy asked, his body flickering like static. He tilted his head, face brightening as he reached out to tug Philza’s shirt. “Can you play with me?”</p><p>Philza blinked at him.</p><p>In the dying island, Philza found himself soaring through the skies as he carried a ghost in his arms. It felt odd—he’s hugged Ghostbur before, but carrying a ghost child was a whole new can of worms. His body was cold and felt like he was touching solid clouds, that he might phase through his hands any moment.</p><p>Ghost Tommy giggled as he spread his arms in Philza’s hold, laughing as he reached his hand out to the clouds beneath them. The sky above the clouds were dyed brilliant gold, and the setting sun was just over the horizon, illuminating the clouds a wonderful spectrum of colors. Philza had seen this sky many times, but the times he shared this beautiful world with his sons could be counted with a hand with fingers left over. This was the first time he shared the skies with Tommy ever since he left with Wilbur.</p><p>He glanced down to Tommy. He was so happy – happier than Philza’s ever seen him be. It was difficult to find a smile on his face when he was plunged into a world full of sacrifices and heartbreak. Now, without restraint, Tommy could laugh as a child with nobody around but his father.</p><p>“Higher!” Tommy demanded. “Go higher!”</p><p>Philza felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards. Tommy was always bold and fearless. “Sure thing, kiddo.” He tightened his hold on Tommy and held him closer to his chest. “Just hold tight.”</p><p>With a strong flap of his wings, they flew up high, high, high, until they could not see any more clouds. Air gushed in his ears, so much that Tommy’s delighted giggles felt far away.</p><p>The sun has set, and the sky was now dark blue.</p><p>Philza stopped ascending, remaining hovering in a single spot. Tommy stopped laughing, and had his arms wrapped around his neck. Do ghosts get tired?</p><p>“You alright, kiddo?” Philza asked, patting Tommy’s back.</p><p>Tommy nodded, resting his head on his shoulder. “I want to stay like this,” he whispered, like a child making a wish to a shooting star. “Can we stay like this forever?”</p><p>Philza chuckled. “Can’t do, kiddo. This old man’s got to rest at some point.”</p><p>Tommy’s arms around him tightened. “Oh.” He was sullen. “Then,” he added, burying his face into his shoulder. Philza’s shoulder felt moist and warm. “Then, can you not bring me back?”</p><p>“Back?”</p><p>“Home.” Tommy’s voice turned brittle. Like the sun, his energy and joyfulness had disappeared with the absence of light. “They all hurt me.” He sniffled. “Techno hurt me. Tubbo hurt me. Everyone hurt me. I don’t want to go back.”</p><p>His body turned unstable, flickering in and out of existence like a broken television. He was visibly upset.</p><p>Philza held Tommy tighter. “Toms, they didn’t mean to.” He nestled his head next to Tommy’s, brushing a hand through his hair. He felt so dead, but so alive. Tommy didn’t become a ghost because he had something he needed to fulfil. He wasn’t a ghost because he had old debts to settle. It was because Tommy was afraid to die alone.</p><p>A young boy who was driven to the brink of insanity because the people he loved turned their backs on him. When he sought for someone to lean on, who would truly care for him, they’d left him and drove him away to a land where nobody would ever find. Even Ghostbur left him, as he’d gotten closure for his own regrets.</p><p>Philza’s tears ran down his face and stained Tommy’s shirt.</p><p>He was a bad father.</p><p>Tommy looked up and stared at Philza. “Will you stay with me?” he asked. “I’m scared.”</p><p>Philza’s eyes turned misty. He nodded vigorously, then pulled Tommy into a hug. When he opened his eyes, Tommy was gone, with only fractals of light fading away as he passed on.</p><p>Wiping tears from his eyes, Philza began his descent, determined to give his son a proper burial, only to stop midair as he broke through the layer of clouds.</p><p>He wasn’t at the island anymore. Instead of a deserted wasteland, what waited beneath him was a bright city, with wooden paths, a rainbow-windowed castle, an obsidian-framed tower, and many more colorful structures.</p><p>The book that contained the coordinates were gone.</p><p> </p><p>Fundy strolled the wooden paths in L’manburg without any particular goal to achieve. Yawning into his hand, he caught an unfamiliar shade of green as he pulled his hand from his face.</p><p>“Huh,” he said, staring at the sapling. “Guess the fuckin’ L’mantree grew back.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Arc I [Aftermath]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>Aftermath</h3><h6>Philza</h6><p>He did his best to search for the island again. He tried to ask Dream, but he was away, and there was no way of telling when he would return. Before he left to his journey in search of that foggy island, he gathered Techno and Tubbo to tell them everything. He would then pack up more supplies and journey to an endless sea.</p>
<h6>Tubbo</h6><p>Upon hearing the news from his father, he cried. He held a funeral for Tommy even if they couldn’t find his body. The funeral was attended by many, which included: The Badlands (except for Bad and Sam), the Dream SMP faction, Boomerville, and essentially everybody. Tubbo set up a memorial and a statue to commemorate Tommy’s heroic deeds. Tubbo still blames himself but hides it from others, but it’s not easy to mask his grief and self-hatred from Philza and Techno.</p>
<h6>Technoblade</h6><p>He remained stoic as he received the news. Then, he would return to his hidden base and rethink his morals. Despite still despising the government and L’Manburg, he made an effort to attend Tommy’s funeral, sitting at the very corner. He regrets his decisions (which is a difficult thing to do) and apologizes to Tommy and Wilbur’s graves. He does not try to make Tubbo’s life harder since, and both of them began to reconcile.</p>
<h6>Wilbur</h6><p>Before he left the mortal realm, he spent the majority of his exile thinking about his past life. Since there was no one around him to assure and/or lie to him, he would be forced to deal with his past memories. Though it was a difficult journey, he gradually accepts his past self was not perfect and starts to make amends. He talks to Tommy and then he left back to L’Manburg, but in doing so, he’d left Tommy alone on that cursed island, giving him the chance and opening he dreaded to have…</p>
<h6>Dream</h6><p>As the one that caused all of this—by all, it meant <em>all</em>—Dream takes time to reflect on his actions and begins seeking help for his erratic behavior. He leaves the factions and decides to take time off to heal his own broken mind. In the midst of his journey, he attends Tommy’s funeral and ignores everybody, especially George and Sapnap who’d joined Mexican L’Manburg. He apologizes to Tommy and Wilbur’ graves.</p>
<h6>Fundy</h6><p>Before Wilbur finally passed on, they’d spent actual time together. Fundy helped Wilbur handle his emotions whenever they got uncontrollable. Wilbur apologizes to Fundy for everything he’s done and Fundy genuinely accepts it. Since then, Fundy’s grown more confident in himself, and his leadership starts to shine through. He would eventually take presidency from Tubbo, allowing the teen to heal while he continued the symphony his father had started.</p>
<h6>Quackity</h6><p>After making peace with Schlatt, he becomes more mentally stable and agrees that he needs to heal. He seeks out BadBoyHalo’s help whenever he’s unstable and it helps. He has since then grown more passive and less spiteful.</p>
<h6>Bad &amp; Sam</h6><p>Despite having no relation to the teen or the situation itself, they have been concocting a new plan. They may have failed in bringing Schlatt back to life, but this might be another chance for them to try again…</p><p> </p>
<h3>Symbolizations</h3><h6>Tommy’s Ghost Form</h6><p>In the story, Tommy’s ghost is the form of a child. More precisely, he’s 10-years-old, the age where most kids start to grow up and learn responsibility and maturity. This is because Tommy, being a child sent off to war and having experienced several traumatic experiences, does not have a healthy outlet to handle his trauma. Instead, his method for coping is self-destructive, and it all leads to the burning desire that he could be without all of this pain.</p><p>Also, he is also described as “covered in bandages”. This could be a direct reference to his body before he’d died, also covered in bandages. However, the more accurate explanation would be that Tommy has many wounds that the naked eye cannot see. Since Ghosts are the reflection of what the dead truly are (just like Ghostbur being ignorant and oblivious when he died – it’s a callback to when Wilbur is exhausted with all his responsibilities and his sanity starts to decline), the bandages would mean that Tommy is unable to heal from all the pain he experienced, so he carries it even after death.</p><p> </p>
<h6>Holding Lights</h6><p>Tubbo, Techno and Philza are all described to be holding up a light when they first encounter Ghost Tommy. In movies, when characters are holding up a light source, they are always searching for something. When Techno encountered Tommy, it was by complete accident. Tubbo knew what he was getting into. Philza is searching directly for his dead son.</p><p>This could be seen as a symbolization of the regret settling in for the SBI. At first (Techno), they would find out that Tommy is no longer with them. Then (Tubbo), they would find it absolutely devastating to learn about the news. Finally (Philza), they would face it directly and take accountability for their actions.</p><p> </p>
<h6>Tommy Not Being Afraid of Philza</h6><p>In the story, Tommy actively avoids others. He runs when others see him. He disappears when Techno saw him and the same happens with Tubbo. But this does not happen with Philza, why? Instead, he shows up on his own accord when Philza carries his body. This is because Philza did not contribute to any of his trauma. Philza is the only person whom he sees as comforting and safe. Philza does not hurt him because he is his father.</p><p> </p>
<h6>The L’Mantree</h6><p>Tommy’s Ghost makes a point to replant a tree where the L’Mantree used to be. Since that tree is a piece of history that remained intact despite all the wars, Tommy could have seen it as an anchor to this place he used to call home. So when it is empty, Tommy does what he always does best. He makes sure everything are where they should be.</p><p> </p>
<h6>Tommy’s Death</h6><p>He’s stabbed in the same place where Philza stabbed Wilbur. Direct reference and call back to the line, “If I can’t be the next Schlatt, you can’t be the next Wilbur.” Tubbo repeats history and so does Tommy, except this time with much more horrific results.</p><p> </p>
<h3>What Tommy Remembers</h3><p>Thanks to Techno, we also know that Tommy only remembers the worst in everyone. He only remembers the worst thing that everyone has ever done to him. He also tells Philza that everybody hurt him so he does not want to go home. This is a list of things that he <em>does</em> remember:</p>
<ul>
<li>Technoblade betraying and killing him at the revolution.</li>
<li>Wilbur blowing up Manburg and straying from Tommy.</li>
<li>Tubbo exiling him with a shadow of Schlatt behind him.</li>
<li>Anything that is remotely related to Dream.</li>
<li>Fundy burning the flag down and helped hunt him down.</li>
<li>Sapnap killing his pets.</li>
<li>George complaining to Dream which led to his exile.</li>
<li>Anything that is related to Schlatt.</li>
<li>Skeppy burning his disc.</li>
<li>BadBoyHalo and Sam bringing back Schlatt.</li>
<li>Quackity for being Schlatt’s vice president.</li>
<li>Eret’s betrayal &amp; the Dream Team massacre.</li>
<li>Tubbo being Schlatt’s secretary.</li>
<li>And the entirety of the war for L’Manburg’s independence in general but without the happy memories.</li>
</ul><p> </p>
<h3>Tommy’s Reason For Staying</h3><p>Tommy is fiercely loyal to the people around him. His entire being is centered for the people that he cares about. So when he’s alone in a land and everybody he trusted betrayed him, it ruins his entire mind beyond salvation. He already decided to die way before Wilbur left, but he’s afraid of dying. Or more specifically, dying alone with nobody by his side. He dies painfully, more mentally than physically. When Philza arrives, he’s glad to find comfort in his presence and finally passes on in Philza’s arms.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. CHOOSE YOUR STORY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So, I've been messing around with Choose Your Story fics, and I've decided to make one for this book! Click <a href="https://junipersand.neocities.org/Stay%20With%20Me.html">here</a>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Features:</strong>
</p><p>1. Different plotlines, different outcomes from the storyline of this book itself. You will get to choose how Philza would react, starting from Dream giving him the coordinates. You can choose to let him stay back and not go at all, or someone else would find the book.</p><p>2. There are <strong><em>9</em></strong>endings for you to unlock, one being a secret lore reveal.</p><p>
  <strong>*Edit: I confused a lot of people by saying that there's a lore reveal other than the 9 endings- dhmu sorry english isn't my first language ;-;</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>If there are errors, please do let me know. This is the first time I'm attempting something like this with a new software and website. Thank you!</p><p> </p><p>p/s: post the ending you got in the comments below!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Arc II: New Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam tried to speak up as his friend stormed into the mansion, his cloak billowing behind him. He was in his human form, but it didn’t make him less terrifying. Bad could be horrifying if he wanted to, but the creeper hybrid doubted he was even aware of the aura he was emitting. “Bad—”</p><p>Bad walked past him and headed straight towards the bunker. “Not now, Sam.” He climbed down the ladders with a fury.</p><p>Sam chased after him, keeping the trapdoor open. “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not worth it. He left in peace—”</p><p>“I’m not trying to bring back Tommy,” Bad cut him off with an exasperated growl. His demon form returned momentarily, with obsidian skin and pure white eyes overtaking his features before disappearing. “I’m—” He paused, anger beginning to deflate. “I’m just here to see Skeppy.”</p><p>The green-haired man paused, as if he were genuinely surprised by the answer. He took his hand off the trapdoor, which fell and was caught by the demon just before it hit his head.</p><p>“Please,” Bad continued, voice merely a whisper. “Just let me be.”</p><p>With a stiff posture, Sam nodded and left him. Bad climbed down the ladder after shutting the trapdoor. Enveloping his descent into darkness. He came to a stop when his foot touched solid ground beneath him. The bunker was cold and void of sound. Built from pure obsidian, nothing could get out or get in. He’d built it himself in the past, whilst arguing with somebody he used to know.</p><p>Bad’s expression darkened as soon as he heard a familiar voice calling out his name. It no longer brought joy to him—instead it stung his ears like needles and fire.</p><p>“Yo, BadBoyHalo!” Skeppy said joyfully, a deranged look plastered on his face. He was tied to a chair, with runestones forming the cuffs on his wrist and ankles. “Are you finally here to let me out, Bad? C’mon, won’t you listen to your best friend?”</p><p>Bad turned to his former friend with his arms crossed. “Not today,” he snapped, eyeing the goat horns protruding from either side of Skeppy’s head, “<em>Schlatt</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt hadn’t passed on like everybody said he had. Bad didn’t know who conjured up that fantasy that never ever happened. At first, he’d believed it, but only until Skeppy started behaving oddly. His routine changed drastically after Ramboo told him Schlatt was finally gone, and it only took a few moments to put two-and-two together. First off, Skeppy wouldn’t drink alcohol while working out. Secondly, Skeppy didn’t even work out. Thirdly, he wouldn’t stop pushing Bad’s boundaries and personal space, which was something Skeppy would have respected in spite of all his tolling.</p><p>Figuring out what was happening didn’t take long, either. His mannerisms, his personality—Bad had seen it only a few times, but there was no doubt on who the perpetrator was. It was distinguishable as black and white. He was fortunate to have unveiled his acting just before Schlatt tried to plant explosives in the Badlands; using Skeppy’s body, nonetheless. Bad was forced to restrain him and knock him unconscious before he could cause harm to anyone.</p><p>Bad told nobody except for Ant and Sam. Together, they devised a runestone that could prevent Schlatt’s ghost from ever escaping and possessing anybody else, but it would mean trapping his ghost <em>inside</em> Skeppy. Skeppy would be stuck like this until they could find a solution. They worked day and night looking for the answer, but they never found it. During this period of time, Tommy was exiled from Manburg, and Bad and Sam had left to visit him. Only they haven’t known that it would be their last time seeing the teen.</p><p>He heard from Fundy that Tommy finally moved on, too. He wondered how he was doing.</p><p> </p><p>Lately, there’s been strange sightings found within the perimeters of L’Manburg. Rather than Fundy’s usual pranks, there were signs of paranormal activity. This would have been fine—since they’ve lived with Ghostbur and Jschost—but they were already gone, and as far as Tubbo was concerned, nobody has died. Everybody was still in one piece. Techno and Philza were both away. The Badlands were still gaining power steadily and at a more rapid pace. L’Manburg has the best health insurance the world could offer. The Dream SMP were unkillable.</p><p>So unless someone died and became a ghost with a sole purpose that is to prank the world, Tubbo could only assume that this was a cruel prank done by someone who had a very poor sense of humor. Because this prank was in the form of a book and quill, with a letter that had the exact same handwriting as his dead brother. Niki was the one that found it in her room one night, and her hand was stained with ink when she woke up. In the book wrote:</p><p>
  <em>Dear Niki. Please tell Fundy he smells like soggy cheese. P/S: Tell Tubbo bees are nice.</em>
</p><p>It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that Ghostbur was no longer with them. Neither was GhostInnit. Every ghost that’s related to them have already found their peace, and they were done with the mortal coil. Tubbo wasn’t dead, so he wouldn’t know whether if they could return from the astral realm or not. For all he knew, they could stop by just as easily as he could pick up an ice-cream from Ramboo’s ice cream shop’s drive through. He wouldn’t know because he has not died.</p><p>Tubbo passed it off as a prank after nobody stepped forward and confessed. Even Fundy, who was the master of pranks, looked at his president confused as he was presented with the document, as if he’s had better things to do than prank a woman in the style of her dead best friend. Tubbo had to agree that it was a new low, even for Fundy, but Fundy had never passed up the chance to reveal the perpetrator behind his pranks. This couldn’t be Fundy because Fundy would say that he smelled like wet sock instead. Fundy hated cheese with every fiber of his being.</p><p>But then, it also happened to him.</p><p>As Tubbo was tucked into the night and snuggled into his bed, he drifted off into the land of dreams as soon as his head touched the pillow. His pillow was still crusty from all the tears and sweat that dried, but he didn’t have the energy to change it. With all that’s going around, he didn’t have much motivation to do anything. He’s grateful that Fundy had taken the position of the president off his shoulders.</p><p>In the morning, Tubbo woke to the smell of ink and paper, with an open book on the drawer by his bed. It was a new book and quill, with freshly written letters on the very first page. Surprised, he reached out to grab the book, only to find his fingers stained and smudged with ink. The dark splotches on his nails and fingertips were dead giveaways of such. He’d seen the same smudges before—when he had to stay up late to sign all the paperwork; his hands would turn black from the quill and ink.</p><p>The letter read: <em>Dear Tubbo. Please tell Jack Manifold he has a crap name. P/S: Tell Punz that he’s an idiot.</em></p><p>It was the same handwriting and writing style. His hand was smudged with ink, just like Niki’s description. She’d woken up to inked fingers and a new book on her table. The exact same thing happened to Tubbo, only the contents of the letter were different. But the style and format were completely identical. It was uncanny. The similarities were directly parallel to each other, down to the bone. Niki hadn’t been lying, but who was doing this?</p><p>Tubbo shuddered as he yanked the blanket from his body. He’d had worse experiences with the supernatural.</p><p> </p><p>It’s been months since he started his search. There’s been no development or any findings.</p><p>Philza breathed out softly as he soared through the skies. His spine was strained, his wings aching with every weakening flap. His body was rigid from long hours of continuous flight; grasping to the last bits of his strength, he pushed himself to his very limits, keeping his eyes peeled for any sight of a familiar island and boat in the vast sea.</p><p>For months, he found none.</p><p>With a new coat, Philza pulled his oversized sleeves closer to himself, ready to rest for the night. All he needed was to find a safe place to land – preferably somewhere solid, where he wouldn’t need to place down a boat. He was growing tired of the rocky state of boats whenever he tried to rest his aching body. Biting his lip and squinting his eyes, all he saw was the surface of the sapphire seas, soothing and gentle but without the very thing he was looking for. He’s not even sure whether if he’s going in the right direction. Above the sea, everywhere looked the exact same.</p><p>The sun has set, and moonlight graced his journey and the sea in lucid silver. His grey feathers gleamed like pure platinum, almost reflecting white.</p><p>Philza sighed. He’d seen this same scene for far too long. It was beautiful, majestic; but the only thing that it would remind him of was that he’d emerged fruitless from another day of searching. It was only a painful indicator that told him that it was another day where he had failed to find his son.</p><p>He was tired.</p><p>So, so tired.</p><p>Philza began to descend to the oceans, preparing the boat he brought. He wouldn’t be able to go much further. Once he prepped the boat, he lowered himself into it, and laid down on the wooden surface with an aching body and sore joints. His wings spread out from both sides of the boat, the boat being far too cramped to accommodate his wings and glorious feathers. The tips of his wings grew moist from the rhythm of waves, like a melody that his son would sing to him when he was younger.</p><p>Closing his eyes, he was ready to call it a day of searching, but they snapped open as soon as his ears picked up a foreign tune.</p><p>It was the sound of music—more specifically, the tune of a music <em>disc</em>. The choppy yet distinct static was all too familiar to him, but the music itself was not. It was a disc he’d never heard of, but it shared the same features with all the discs that Tommy used to play.</p><p>Philza shot upwards, gripping the sides of the boat as he looked around frantically. With his frenzied eyes, he could see nothing but a world of wave and foam. There was no jukebox anywhere near him, but the melody was faint, as if it were guiding him towards somewhere. Somewhere he’d been searching for months.</p><p>Despite his exhaustion, Philza took hold of the oars, and began rowing towards the source of the music.</p><p> </p><p>The music is louder and clearer than Philza’s ever heard it.</p><p>It didn’t take long for Philza to find the island. The first sign of it was the heavy fog that greeted him once before, followed by his boat rocking as the tip collided with a solid wall.</p><p>He released the oars with trembling hands, his breath erratic. His body was demanding for rest, his bones screaming for a break, but he did not stop. The music was coming from the island, somewhere. Somewhere from the center.</p><p>Scrambling from the boat, his feet kicked the bone-chilling water, sandals soaked as he staggered towards the rocky shore. It was the same as he last arrived—he could see a faint silhouette of his old boat in a distance, sunken and rotting in the ocean—so he knew where to go. He knew exactly where his son was.</p><p><em>I’m coming</em>, he said to himself, fighting an uphill battle against himself as he struggled to climb up the steep bank.</p><p>The further he entered the island, the clearer the weather became. The fog began to lift. The clouds were subsiding and sunlight poked through and draped onto the wilting grass beneath his feet. Sweat dripping from his cheeks, Philza wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he raced towards his son’s body.</p><p>Philza stopped in his path.</p><p>Placed right before him was a jukebox, with a red music disc playing at the center.</p><p>And by that jukebox was his son, his translucent form sitting on the floor and leaning on the jukebox, eyes closed as he slept peacefully under the shining sun.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Arc II: Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream SMP &amp; Le Rapids: WAR!</p><p>L'Manburg: Boohoo, we exiled Tommy :(</p><p>Tommy: SuicidalInnit</p><p>The Badlands: Hehe egg goes brr no what do you mean egg is bad haha sam ur so silly :))</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bad needs to get Skeppy back at all costs. Schlatt is vile. He is evil, and never to be trusted. It didn’t matter how well his acting was, or how distraught he sounded using Skeppy’s identity. As much as Bad’s heart was torn to pieces as he saw Skeppy writhe in pain, sobbing and begging to be released from this prison. He turned away and clamped his ears shut whenever Schlatt used Skeppy’s voice to call out to him, demanding why he would ever do this to his best friend.</p><p>Bad wanted to apologize, but he knew Schlatt would only use it to his advantage. He kept his lips shut and face straight whenever his guilt haunted him late at night. He wasn’t the strongest person in this SMP, but he had to be for the sake of his friend. Whenever Ant and Sam volunteered to look after Schlatt instead of him, he rejected their kind offers and left to face the music. The pain of ignorance was better than the ache of realization. As the founder of the nation they tried to desperately protect, this was a mission that only he can shoulder.</p><p>It didn’t make his heart any less heavy.</p><p>The moment it became clear that the ghost was not going to leave anytime soon, Bad retreated to his statue room and continued to expand it. Anything to take his mind off his troubles and agony. Netherite tore through stone with ease, the rhythmic hum of mining enveloping him in a sense of tranquility. Mining and building were the only things he could control. He could decide whether to get rid of this section of stone. He could decide what his statues would look like. It was his only anchor when the world spiraled out of control.</p><p><em>Crack</em>.</p><p>Bad stopped swinging his pickaxe. That wasn’t a sound stone would make. Pursing his lip, he leaned forward to the abnormal object in the ground, noticing crimson red buried under layers of monotonous grayish stone. He looked closer.</p><p>There was a light pulsing within the crimson. A life, perhaps.</p><p> </p><p>Philza fell to his knees. His eyes were entranced by the sight. There was his son peaceful and so <em>alive</em> – looking just like the boy he saw walk out his door and into the cruel world. The boy that wasn’t been tainted by the wars and the horrors that plagued his mind. The boy that would annoy his older brothers and disturb their daily routines whenever he got too lonely. It was as if the ripped canvas was suddenly whole and blank again, a second chance for a new picture to be painted; but that canvas wasn’t whole nor was it blank.</p><p>“Tommy,” Philza said breathlessly, choking on a sob. “Tommy, I’m sorry.”</p><p>The vinyl continued to spin, notes dancing in the air like fairies. Tommy’s transparent form still remained motionless, as if he were a statue.</p><p>“Tommy, c’mon—” Philza hunched over, forehead touching the floor. It was difficult to get air into his lungs, mouth wide open as he tried to suck in oxygen, only for it to be choked out the moment it graced his throat. He spent so long in the wild, looking for his son. Countless sleepless nights and constantly facing the threats of mobs, all for the sake of fulfilling a selfish wish that Tommy may not want. But he was here now, and Tommy right before him. It was all too much for him to handle.</p><p>Philza wanted to scream but his vocal cords shriveled dry. His brain pounded within his skull, begging for just a moment of rest. Every inch of his body was strained and exhausted, ready to collapse at any given moment.</p><p>The disc stopped, plunging the world in utter and complete silence. The only sound were the waves crashing against the bank, but it was raw and unfiltered, like a child’s cry. Philza looked back up, his neck cracking. Tommy was gone.</p><p>But before Philza lost all hope, the disc started spinning, even without anyone interfering with it. The beginnings of <em>Chirp</em> resonated in the sunny skies, like a fire relighting itself back to its golden glory. The tones and notes were all too familiar, but something was different. The tune was faster paced, carrying a sense of urgency, but it also held joy. Happiness was weaved into the notes, changing the entire calm song, despite the disc being untouched.</p><p>A red figure materialized just in front of Philza’s eyes, squatting down whilst resting his forearms on his thighs. Tommy grinned at Philza, holding a ghostly hand out to him.</p><p>“Philza, what are you doing here?” Tommy asked cheerfully. “I thought you were with Techno!”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy raised an eyebrow as he opened the foreign book and quill. Like Niki and Tubbo, he’d also received a book out of the blue, with the handwriting of his father. His fingers were stained with ink, but unlike the others, his book had a title. It was a letter with the name of, <em>My Son</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Fundy,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know I am not the father you deserve, but I thank you for being my son. My trans, furry, half-salmon fox son. </em>
</p><p>Fundy snorted. If this was a prank—which is most definitely is, because Ghostbur’s already gone—he would strangle the perpetrator and feed them to his salmon friends. He continued reading, only because the style was all too familiar.</p><p>
  <em>You are the best son a dad could ever ask for. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>P/S: Please bring Tommy some blue at Logstedshire. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>P/S #2: I wonder how he’s doing in his vacation now. He must be having a blast at his beach!</em>
</p><p>Fundy closed the book. There’s no way this is real. First off, Tommy was gone, and the only thing was left of him was a rotting corpse. Secondly, Wilbur was also gone, and this was most definitely not real. And finally, both their spirits have finally moved on, and this prank was obscenely rude, as it mentioned the dead.</p><p>He sighed, setting the book aside in his drawer, but it looked like the universe had other plans. Before he could release the book, the cover flung open with a vengeance, opening an empty page. Fundy stepped back from the open drawer, hairs stood on its ends, shocked.  Other than his erratic breathing, the only sound that filled the room was a scratchy slither, like the tip of a quill writing on parchment.</p><p>Fundy’s nose twitched. “What the fuck?” He stepped closer. The empty page was no longer blank. It was filled with words that weren’t there before, the ink glistening in bits of light. It was freshly written, but there were no quills or ink nearby. It just magically appeared. Okay. Definitely not a prank. He squinted closer at the words.</p><p>
  <em>Are you ignoring me, son?</em>
</p><p>“Wilbur?” Fundy choked out. He took the book out and put it on his table. The book didn’t flip to a new page, instead, continuing on the same page. Ink appeared magically on paper, like embers burning into letters.</p><p>
  <em>I am not Wilbur. Alivebur is not here anymore. I am Ghostbur. How are you doing, my son?</em>
</p><p>“You’re not Ghostbur,” Fundy rasped. “I can see Ghostbur.” He looked around and nobody was there. “Ghostbur isn’t invisible like you. He’s gone now. He’s with my mother. Who are you?”</p><p>More scratchy slithers.</p><p>
  <em>I am Ghostbur. I don’t see you, but I can hear you and talk to you with writing. </em>
</p><p>Scratches.</p><p>
  <em>Remember when you would come home from the forest with your fur all sticky and red?</em>
</p><p>More slithers.</p><p>
  <em>You always ate berries with the foxes in the wild. One day you ate something and your fur turned pink—</em>
</p><p>“Alright!” Fundy cut the writing off. Despite his confusion, his face burned bright red. It was a memory that he’d always wanted to forget, but Wilbur still had pictures of his neon pink hair and fur somewhere in his photo album. If only he could find that particular photo and burn it, but he could never. “I believe you.” He grumbled profanity under his breath. “But please, don’t bring that up ever again.”</p><p>Ghostbur drew a smiley face.</p><p>Fundy turned back to the book. He felt stupid, as he was talking to an inanimate object, but was it really inanimate? If Ghostbur was possessing it, it means that it’s housing something. Something dead, perhaps, but it could interact with him.</p><p>“Why are you still here?” Fundy demanded. “Didn’t your spirit move on?”</p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>“… then why are you still here, then?”</p><p>The writing does not continue, even after a minute.</p><p>Fundy frowned, tapping the page. “Ghostbur?”</p><p>Ghostbur responds. Ink leaked into the paper like a stream, creating intricate artworks.</p><p><em>I don’t know either</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>By the time Bad excavated the crimson object, it’s been hours of work. He was careful to not damage the surface, digging around and checking up constantly on its state. The life that pulsed within was fragile, as if it could break at any moment. It was mesmerizing, as if it were calling out to him like a siren’s melody.</p><p>Bad put his hand on the crimson. Its exterior was akin to flower petals, but the core within was sturdy. The light inside grew brighter as his hand made contact with it, like it was glad for some company. Its shape was similar to a rose bud, albeit it was twice his size and attached firmly to the ground and the walls around it. There were roots that ran deep in the stone and gravel, so he was careful to keep them intact.</p><p>It felt warm, full of life. His body grew heavy as he stared closer, his eyes threatening to shut. The light was so inviting, and it felt so entrancing. Maybe it’s the long day of work and intense focus that left his body drained of any energy. His arms hung like weights on his bodies and his legs turned to lead. The dim light in the bud was reflected in Bad’s green eyes, a light in his dark, exhausted gaze.</p><p>He needed to rest. It’s been a tiring day. He could check up on this new discovery after he gets some rest, but the path to his home was far and laborious. There was string on him as well as some wood. Making a makeshift bed here sounded like a decent plan, especially if he was in no shape to head out into the wild with hostile monsters.</p><p>Nestling into a sleeping bag near the bud, Bad covered his eyes with his hoodie and called it a night. His eyelids finally closed after a long-awaited sleep. It was really unfortunate that he didn’t expect to encounter a voice in his head that night.</p><p>
  <em>You belong to me.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Arc II: Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy was used to being alone, even after he was pulled back from the dead and into the land of the living.</p><p>His life as an exiled teen had longer lasting effects on him more than he had thought it would, which led to some interesting habits. He stopped being loud and boisterous all the time, because there was nobody to annoy. He started appreciating the silence over the sound of conversation, as there could be no bad things happening if nobody ever spoke to begin with. These changes happened after his ghost returned for a second time, only more complete than his broken state.</p><p>There were changes, of course – but he couldn’t remember what they were. He found it difficult to remember things, especially when the music disc stopped playing. He would replay the same vinyl non-stop, never getting bored of the same tune. He remembered telling the giver of this disc that it sounded like death—he couldn’t remember their name or face anymore—but now, it embodied his whole life. He only existed as long as its music played.</p><p>So when a familiar face abruptly appeared on his island, surprise was the bare minimum of his feelings. His emotions felt far away, detached from his actual being, but he clung into the bits as they tried to float from him like balloons.</p><p>“Philza what are you doing here?” he asked, extending a hand for his father. “I thought you were with Techno!”</p><p> </p><p>Philza stared at the ghostly silhouette of his son. Lips quivering and throat constricting, a million words spilled into his tongue, but simply withering as soon as it reached the tip. His eyes darted between the teen’s face, pristine and clear of grime and wariness; then to his hand, soft and untainted, without a speck of blood or injury. Without a doubt, this was his son, but not. The real Tommy was gone forever, like Wilbur and Schlatt. Parts of their spirits may remain, but they were never the full picture. Just pieces of a puzzle that went up in flames.</p><p>No. This was just another fragment of Tommy. A part of him that wasn’t plagued by all the nightmares and horrors that he faced from a young age. The side of him that the world never got to see: gentle and joyful, caring and <em>peaceful</em>.</p><p>Philza wanted to shrivel up into a ball and cry. Sobs racked his throat and his body trembled, his head lowering as he could not bring himself to face his son. He was like Ghostbur, happy and without a care in the world. His fists clenched, grabbing onto dried grass and infertile dirt. His face was caked with sweat, tears, and dirt from the floor.</p><p>Tommy, seemingly taken aback, took a few steps from the man. He held his hands out defensively, as if he was unsure of the situation at hand. The music became urgent and higher pitched. His skin turned a shade of pale yellow.</p><p>“Are you… okay?” Tommy wisped, gritting his teeth. The tone he was using was uncertain, like he was stepping on a minefield. “Is everything alright?”</p><p><em>No. Nothing’s alright</em>. But Philza can’t say that. Philza gripped the sides of his head with his hands, pulling at his overgrown hair. It was greasy, itchy with lice, but there was nothing he could do. Other than the impulse trimming, hair care wasn’t an option in the wild.</p><p>The ghostly teen stared at the adult. His face was filled with emotion, but the colors and the music reflected more things than he could ever express.</p><p>After what seemed like hours of unbearable silence, Philza felt a hand on his back. It was cold, ghostly, but it was firm. With a strained skeleton, he forced himself to sit upright, fighting against his body’s desperation for a bed. With a blurry vision, he turned to the teen that now sat by him, giving him an understanding look. The music was clear and soothing.</p><p>“I forgot how being human feels like, I’m not gonna lie,” Tommy admitted, chuckling to himself. He was trying to make Philza feel better about himself, maybe. “But man.” He clicked his tongue, eyeing Philza’s condition. “You look like shit.”</p><p>A dry laugh arose in the man’s throat, but it quickly died down. His face fell sullen when realization began to settle in, despite his tiredness. How he wished he was delirious – so out of his mind that he could enjoy this false pretense with his son, if only for a moment. He’d never gotten drunk, but he heard stories from others that blackout drunks don’t remember anything they’d done, and they could only speculate their doings during that time. He wanted to forget all the grief and all the deaths, and just spend time with this remnant of a son, even for a minute.</p><p>That day would never come. Time does not turn back for anyone.</p><p>“I got you to laugh a bit.” Tommy showed him his trademark grin. “I call that a win for me.” He stood up and put his hands on his hips. He pointed at a distance. “Look, there’s a house that I lived in before I died. I cleaned it up a bit, so no need to be afraid of all the blood and shit. It will be a cozy place to rest, and I’ll even stand guard while you do!”</p><p>Philza zoned out, and his eyes lingered on the teen. Whether it was due to exhaustion or the mere shock of it all, he didn’t know.</p><p>Tommy’s form turned pink. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Sorry,” he apologized meekly. “You know – it’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone else, other than some birds and stuff.” He scratched the back of his head, chuckling to himself. “I’m not used to company in general. It’s just been me and my disc, all alone in this nowhere island.”</p><p>He didn’t sound too disappointed by his fate. Rather, he sounded like he was grateful for this isolation, like a proud farmer overlooking their plump crops.</p><p>Philza’s mind began to drift. Months of constant travel had left him feeling fatigued. Endless rocking boats and turbulences in the sky always kept him awake for days, in fear of his life. Now that he’s finally on solid ground, with a warm sun, swaying music and a mellow breeze, his head drooped heavy and his eyelids closed shut. Sleep sounded like the cure he needed for this pestering exhaustion. For a long time, he yearned for it, he prayed for it, but he never got it.</p><p>Tommy’s voice was a lullaby of its own. When he was younger, Philza would sleep to Tommy’s soft snores as he used Philza’s chest, with Wilbur on his right, Tubbo on his legs and Techno curled up on his left. They were so young then, with Tommy barely being able to form complete sentences. Wilbur and Techno would always bicker with each other, always about the topic of their heights. (Of course, Tommy would eventually outgrow them all, and their faces were golden.) As time passed, they went their separate ways, and they never turned back.</p><p>Philza didn’t show any favoritism towards his children, but he had to admit, Tommy reminded him so much of himself. Those golden locks and brilliant blue eyes, they were practically stolen from him. It could be the fact that compared to the others, Tommy was his only <em>biological </em>son. He adopted the others not only because they needed a family, but it was to give Tommy some siblings so he would never be alone.</p><p>It turned out it had been the greatest decision he made in his life.</p><p>Tommy took his arm, grunted with effort, and lifted it over his shoulder. His shoulder joint cracked as he was pulled to his feet, leaning on the teen’s cold body. “Come on, let’s get you to a bed.”</p><p>Philza breathed out and managed a brief smile. “Yeah,” he rasped. “That sounds like a good idea.”</p><p> </p><p>Philza found the book as soon as he woke from his slumber. It wasn’t difficult to find; the blanket that Tommy had offered him was his own coat, kept pristine and in one piece despite all this time. He was too tired to question it, draping it over himself as he collapsed on the bed. The small house was refurbished with wood instead of brick, and there was a faint scent of flowers in the room. The floor was made of stone bricks and the furnace was cleaned.</p><p>As he drawled awake, his hand touched something solid. Still groggy from his sleep, he pushed it aside and went back to the land of dreams. A firm thud resonated in his ears, just faintly out of his consciousness. From the back of his mind, he caught the same music playing outside, albeit softer and calmer, presumably Tommy was somewhere far from here.</p><p>It didn’t take long for him to fully come awake, push himself upright with his sore arms to realize what was covering him. It was his coat, the exact same coat that he used to wrap Tommy’s body with, except it was clean and free of any debris, kept in peak condition. If it was here, what had happened to his body? Maybe Tommy buried himself. It was the only explanation. Nobody else could have possibly found this island, especially if it took him months of continuous searching for him to.</p><p>Philza rubbed his eyes and looked around. His skin was sticky from all his sweat and grime. His body was sore from exertion. His stomach rumbled and growled, causing him to put a hand on it. He was rested, but now he was hungry. He could go catch some fish later, but he was getting sick of it. Perhaps he could find some fruit on the island he could eat, maybe kill a chicken or two.</p><p>He stepped off the bed, and immediately his pinkie toe kicked something on the floor. It was solid, but soft enough to not cause any pain. Philza looked down to see a familiar leather-bound book, something he hasn’t seen in a long time. The thing that brought him here last time, and the disappearance of it that led to his painful search. If he hadn’t left it in his coat, he would have been spared all that anguish. But that was all in the past now – it’s just another book and a set of coordinates.</p><p>He picked it up and flipped to the first page. The pages were crinkled and beginning to yellow. Even the cover was dry and peeling, with tears on the edges. His eyes fell over the smudged words, faded and blurred from time. The coordinates were strangely familiar, as he remembered repeating it over and over to himself when he first set off on his journey.</p><p>Now that he thought about it, why would he forget them if they were the only things he could think of at the time? Philza stared at the coordinates, only for a hard, cold discovery to settle in.</p><p>This island is in the wrong coordinates.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for all the comments, reads and kudos! I really appreciate them and I read through every comment multiple times to cheer me up &lt;3 I cannot thank you all enough! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Arc II: Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hello, Halo.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hello? Who are you?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Someone you should know.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Okay? Why are you talking to me? You don’t sound like anybody I know.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>It’s… complicated.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Um, sure. This is odd.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Yes, it is.</strong>
</p>
<p><em>What’s your name, then? We should at least start with that</em>.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Name? I don’t have one.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s… not the answer I was expecting?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Expectations are irrelevant. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Then what should I call you?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>…</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Crimson, I suppose.</strong>
</p>
<p><em>Crimson? … that sounds like a great name</em>.</p>
<p>Bad curled up tighter in his sleep as the vines crept closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Philza rubbed his eyes and reread the page. There must be something wrong, or his senses must be going haywire. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He was hungry and still sore, after all. But when he looked back to the page, squinted his eyes until they stung, but the numbers never changed. No matter how many times he checked, the coordinates of where he stood did not match the book.</p>
<p>The coordinates on the book were familiar, like an old textbook he used to revise. These were no doubt the set of coordinates where he first used to find this island. But when he tapped into his mind, the part in his head that granted him information of the world around his being, the coordinates displayed were completely different.</p>
<p>The book read: <em>19325 57 -2345</em>.</p>
<p>The coordinates of his person read: <em>-8354 43 14353</em>.</p>
<p>The coordinates weren’t similar in the slightest, but how? This house looked the exact same as he saw last time. The furnace, the chest, and even the cursed bloodstain that turned dark brown on the brick floor. Tommy may have cleaned up the house, but he couldn’t get rid of bloodstains. They were difficult to clean and they were now proof that this is indeed, the place where the original coordinates should have led.</p>
<p>Ghosts don’t bleed. Ghostbur has been wounded before, but he did not bleed. They don’t have blood or mortal bodies. The coat on that bed was his, no doubt, taken from him from so long ago.</p>
<p>
  <em>How can an entire island move?</em>
</p>
<p>Philza’s ear piqued, taking note of the growing volume of the music. Tommy’s coming.</p>
<p>The door to the small house peeped open, revealing a tuft of platinum hair. “Philza?” he asked, the music now playing at full volume. The disc was playing at the jukebox, but the music seemed to follow the teen wherever he went. “Are you hungry?”</p>
<p>Philza looked up, heart skipping a beat. Despite the musical warning, he still wasn’t used to the state that his son is in. Translucent form, paler colors, and the small gap between his feet and the ground.</p>
<p>Tommy tilted his head at the adult, who was kneeling on the floor with a book sprawled in front of him. He frowned worriedly. “Is something wrong?” he quizzed. “Did you not sleep well? Is it because of the bed?”</p>
<p>Philza spluttered to himself. If anyone would notice the coordinate changes, it’s Tommy. He rose to his feet, taking the book in his hand, and showing the open page to the ghostly teen. “Are these the coordinates here?” he asked, skeptical. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s months of endless searching and having nobody to talk to that finally sent him off the edge. Maybe he was already insane and he was dreaming up all of this.</p>
<p>Tommy leaned closer to look at the book. If he were Tubbo, this would have taken a longer time, since he can’t read. But Philza didn’t even know whether if Tommy <em>can </em>still read. Ghostbur admitted that he had to take time to relearn numbers and how to write for some time. Jschost claimed that he was clueless on how to sign documents and how to read official documents. Tommy must have forgotten some basic skill, especially if he was alone for such a long time. Nobody would have corrected him or noticed it to begin with.</p>
<p>To Philza’s surprise, the ghost shrugged and shook his head, but not for the reason he was expecting. “I don’t know what coordinates are,” he answered. “They just seem like a bunch of random numbers to me.”</p>
<p>Philza stared at him. “You don’t know what coordinates are?”</p>
<p>Tommy shook his head again. “Funny numbers?” He ignored the distraught expression on Philza’s face and tugged on his elbow, forcing him to drop the book. “I did some hunting, and there’s some pork cooking outside! I don’t cook or eat, so you’ll have to do it for me!” He pulled his father outside.</p>
<p>Philza’s ears rang. Tommy was right next to him, and the tune of <em>Chirp</em> was blasting straight onto him. It was faint, but he didn’t know how long he can keep his hearing with Tommy in close proximity to him. Tommy probably didn’t know about it, since he was alone all this time.</p>
<p>By the jukebox was a fire with various sticks thrown into it. Instead of the slabs of meat that Philza expected—it’s the most basic skill where even the most amateur of people learned—Tommy had slapped an entire dead pig onto the fire, its limbs tied together with string. There was still blood dripping from its snout. It was actually a miracle that the fire hadn’t gone out and its hide didn’t catch on fire.</p>
<p>Philza sighed. Tommy floated away and turned to him in curiosity. “Toms, this isn’t how you cook meat,” he chided absentmindedly. “You didn’t cut it up or anything. I can’t eat a bloody animal as a whole.”</p>
<p>Tommy’s silhouette turned pink. “Well—” He choked on his ghostly air. He faked a cough, putting a fist to his mouth. “I don’t really eat anything either, so it’s not my fault.”</p>
<p>Philza drew his diamond sword. “Thanks for the food, I guess?” He gestured to the pig. “Do you want me to teach you how?” He swore he saw stars light up in Tommy’s eyes. Philza chuckled dryly. It’s not like he’s going to need it, but he looked so enthusiastic. Philza can’t say no to that.</p>
<p>Tommy nodded furiously. The music blared happily. He and his father spend quality time together chopping up a dead animal. Sometimes he would gag and choke at the organs. Sometimes he took the bones and shoved them into the ground. Sometimes he would poke the meat when it’s cooking over a flame, with Philza crying out to him in shock only to remember that he’s already a ghost. Ghosts don’t feel anything.</p>
<p>Bittersweet? Was that the word to describe the way that Philza’s heart bloomed poorly? Was that the word to use when the happiness in his chest swells to nothing but a lie?</p>
<p>Was this all just a dream for him?</p>
<p>Suddenly Philza didn’t feel hungry at all. He watched his son hover in the air and poked the remains of the dismembered pig with its bone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For god’s sake, Sapnap!” George shrieked, crossing his arms and stomping his foot. The barrel that he was holding clattered to the ground, the cover popping off and the contents spilling out. “Quackity said he needed salmon!” He gestured to the flopping fish around his feet. “These are cods! Where did you even catch all of them?”</p>
<p>From his boat, Sapnap pounded the docks like he held a grudge against it. “Why the fuck does it MATTER?” he screamed back, his boat rocking in the waters unsteadily. “They’re just fish!”</p>
<p>“It’s supposed to be a peace offering for the Badlands!” With the barrel in his hands, George stormed towards the docks to refill it with sea water. He set the filled barrel on solid ground, before whipping to the arsonist with murder in his eyes. “Did you not listen? Don’t you have ears and eyes? There’s even a list in your boat that says nothing but salmon!” He knelt down and scooped all the cod back into the barrel before they died.</p>
<p>Sapnap’s face swelled red. “FUCK THE BADLANDS!” he roared. “Bad’s a pussy anyway. You really think he wants to make an alliance with us? They have a fucking <em>prison</em>!”</p>
<p>The fish in George’s hand slipped into the barrel to join its kin. Water splashed onto his face and goggles. “You little—” His mind concocted a million, reused insults. Every time they argued for no reason, they would always spring back to the old book and use the same things over and over again, only in different occasions. One time, Sapnap called him a fuckface when he was putting on makeup for Quackity’s single party. They were celebrating his single ass. The reason why there was even makeup to begin with was because the theme was a costume party. (Karl showed up in a hotdog suit.)</p>
<p>“Yeah. What are you going to call me?” Sapnap leered. Then with a ridiculous British accent, he mocked, “Oh, look at me, I’m George. I’m 24 but I still want everyone to baby me.”</p>
<p>“You’re ridiculous!”</p>
<p>“Hah! I saw that coming. Nice try, Gogy.” Sapnap ducked after George threw a live fish at him. The cod landed in the water and swam away.</p>
<p>George’s mind raced to think of another insult, preferably one to his face, but all thoughts came to a halt as he heard a dreadfully familiar chuckle. Sapnap seemed to freeze in place as well, his hands holding onto the sides of the boat. Their faces were caught in horror, one that they never thought they would have to face so soon.</p>
<p>With a stiff posture, George turned his neck towards the sound of the voice. From the beach across them, was a figure in a dark cloak. The only features he took note was the stark white plate on their face, contrasting their dark and ragged clothing. Wild locks of dirty blond hair fell past their neck like a lion’s mane. George’s mouth dried up and his tongue shriveled.</p>
<p>In a flash of purple sparks, the figure was right in front of him, towering over his short figure like a firm statue. They swung back their hood, revealing unkempt hair and a mask he knew all too well.</p>
<p>George’s voice was stuck in his throat, but Sapnap was the first to find his. “What are you doing in El Rapids, <em>Dream</em>?” he spat with the venom of a thousand cobras, his expression morphing to one of hatred. He wasn’t spontaneously spewing insults like how he would’ve, but instead, his anger was silent and apparent. “Last I checked, you didn’t care about our brotherhood.”</p>
<p>Dream sighed and sagged his shoulders. He looked out of shape, even with a cloak covering him. His body structure wasn’t as well-built as George had remembered it to be.</p>
<p>“I’m here to apologize.” His words caught the two of them off guard. George’s breath hitched in his throat. “About all the things that I did in the past.”</p>
<p>Sapnap didn’t scream, but he did continue. “I don’t—” He was cut off by George, who held out a hand to gesture for him to calm down. Sapnap bit his tongue and leaned back into his boat, causing a splash in the surface of the water.</p>
<p>George turned to Dream, crossing his arms as he glared at the man towering over him. He was strangely calm, voice monotonous and low. “Let’s hear it, then,” he snapped. “Your supposed ‘apology.’”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>??? Ago</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Ant did his best to keep his breathing even. He was on his knees, kneeling before a bloody circle that was splattered out on cold stone brick. There was a pattern drawn by blood, far too complicated and alien for him to understand, but he didn’t care. It looked nothing like the pentagrams he would see in movies. It was something so foreign that nobody would know what it was.</p>
<p>With a tear-blotched face, Ant brought his palms together and linked his fingers. He trembled whilst muttering apologies, names and regrets that he would have. He apologized to his friends—Bad, Skeppy, Sam and various others—but the name of his beloved never once came to his lips. He would regret that he would commit such an atrocity when his friends needed him the most. He spoke all the names of the people he never got to know.</p>
<p>Then, with shaking fingers, he reached for the sword that laid motionless beside him. He held his hand out over the bloody circle, and sliced his palm open, letting his blood drip onto the crimson curse that he had made.</p>
<p>The circle glowed bright red. The sword clattered to the floor. Ant covered his face with his hands, still bleeding.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Velvet… I’ll see you soon…”</em>
</p>
<p>Their framed photo stood quietly on his shelf as the room was dyed bright red.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Arc II: Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry for the delayed update ahhhhhhh I've been so occupied by schoolwork and 5 new WIPs I'm going to publish at some point. Spoilers! One of them is going to feature a Virtual Idol!AU for CuteBoyHalo and Skippy having a crossover with real life idols Pissbaby, Gogy, and Sappitus Nappitus. Stay turned! :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>20365 52 -3243.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>20361 48 -3234.</em>
</p>
<p>They’re changing. The coordinates were changing – despite Philza standing still, his subspace and being never moved. Even if he didn’t want to believe it, this was the cold, hard truth presented in his eyes.</p>
<p>The island is moving. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he certainly did now. With food and water and a clean bath refreshing his mind, he would realize that the world around him wasn’t as solid as he thought it had been.</p>
<p>He had so many questions, but the main one was: <em>How can an entire island fucking </em>move<em>?</em> It was the elephant in the room, and he doubted Tommy would know. Maybe he did, but he doubted the teen who was high on a music disc would know how a piece of geography would suddenly think it’s perfectly fine to go wherever it wanted on the world map like Techno. This was too much for his mind to handle.</p>
<p>Was <em>this</em> why he couldn’t find the island before? So how did he find it the first time? When did islands start moving? Tommy has something to do with this, definitely, but in what way? And where was his body? The coat was here, in all its glory and cleaned of blood, but Tommy’s corpse was still missing. Did he somehow bury it himself? Months ago, he wasn’t disturbed by it when he was a child ghost, but he’d passed on moments after then. When Tommy’s ghost was brought back as a teenager—as his original self, before all the wars—he must have buried himself. That was the only explanation.</p>
<p>But if Tommy <em>did</em> bury himself, then it would be disrespectful and wrong to bring him back to a place where he didn’t want to go. Philza remembered every word he said. He doesn’t want to go back to L’Manburg. He does not want to return to the land governed by his brothers. Everybody there has wounded him at least once.</p>
<p>The coordinates changed again, numbers flashing in his subspace. He looked up with wariness, dreading how much the island’s drifted, but he wasn’t expecting this. His eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat, ice flashing through his veins like frostbite.</p>
<p>
  <em>0 0 0.</em>
</p>
<p>… what?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bad. Bad, wake up!” Sam prodded his friend’s side. He jabbed his waist with his finger, trying to wake the demon by any inconveniences necessary. Glance shooting upwards to the odd growth protruding from the stone walls, panic surged in his system as he resorted to the only emergency tactic he could think of.</p>
<p>Taking a bucket of water from his inventory, he raised it over his friend’s head like a circus performer. “Bad, if you don’t wake up now, you’re going to be in for a ride!” he exclaimed, testing the waters, but all that got from the man himself was a sleepy murmur, and a shift in his sleeping position. Sam groaned, deciding that any further trials were unconventional. If this wasn’t going to work, he doesn’t know what will. He may be a genius in solving mathematical questions and code, but human—<em>demon?</em>—behavior confused him.</p>
<p>Sam took a deep breath and prayed to whatever deity that he would still have his head after this. With a tense breath, he tipped the bucket over, the chilly contents drenching the demon. The creeper’s eyes were closed shut, his hands still gripping onto the empty bucket like a totem, his teeth clenched as he waited for the dreaded scream to drop.</p>
<p>He heard none.</p>
<p>Perplexed, Sam opened his eyes and clutched his bucket tight, only to realize that the man was <em>still</em> asleep. He may be doused in water, but that didn’t stop him from snoring away like a man in his 40’s with a massive beer gut. Bad’s eyes were sealed shut, his soft, rhythmic breathing barely bothered by the sudden influx of liquid. This was when alarm bells started to sound in Sam’s mind. Bad was the lightest sleeper he’s ever met. Any sort of discomfort would bring the demon to his battle stations, especially when he’s cranky and uptight.</p>
<p>“Bad, come on,” Sam pleaded, almost desperate. He shook his friend’s body, but there was no avail. He was still as a rock, and could be mistaken as dead if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Bad, this isn’t funny.” Still no response. If there was anything that Sam despised in this world, other than the fact that his teammates were all idiots, it was the power of friendship in all those stories he read. But if that was what’s going to wake his friend, he would tolerate it just this once.</p>
<p>Sam took hold of Bad’s shoulders and hoisted him to sit upright. Bad’s head lolled to aside, his body limp and motionless. It was awkward, as he was nestled in a nest of red vines and roots. He didn’t even know how they got so big, or how nobody noticed them. Their existence spelt nothing but trouble. Sam felt it in his veins. As much as he wanted to investigate this, his friend came first. This was the only emotional outburst he understood.</p>
<p>“Bad, I can’t carry you and you know that.” Sam felt silly talking to a sleeping man, but maybe he could hear him. After all, he did give a reaction earlier, albeit a half-baked one. He grit his teeth and mustered all the courage he had in his body. With all the seriousness in the world and the direness of a thousand meteors, he said, “Skeppy’s free from Schlatt.”</p>
<p>It was a complete lie and he knew it. If Bad really could hear him, Sam would feel horrible for lying to him. Bad’s been so invested in this rabbit hole and tried to vanquish Schlatt by any means necessary, and giving him false hope like this would absolutely crush his spirit. But that didn’t matter now—he needed to get Bad awake and running first.</p>
<p>Bad’s eye twitched. It was faint, but Sam caught it. He was reacting to it. It was working.</p>
<p>“Skeppy’s waiting for you back at the mansion,” Sam continued to lie through his tongue. If there was one thing about being a nerd in a world filled with theatre kids and drama queens, you’d tend to pick up some useful skills and uncanny habits. “He told me to look for you. Ant’s at L’Manburg, asking around.”</p>
<p>Sam glared intensely at his leader’s face. Any type of response would be good. Anything to know that he was aware of the happenings around him and that he still has a conscious.</p>
<p>“Ah – Skeppy’s here!” Sam cried, trying to muster up excitement and surprise. “He’s at the entrance. Hi, Skeppy! Hey, Ant!” His hold on Bad’s shoulder tightened. He felt his body tense up. His eyelids were shaking, like he was fighting his own body’s judgement. Just a bit more. “Skeppy, why are you destroying your statue? Hey, stop i—”</p>
<p>Bad’s eyes shot open. “Skeppy!” he screamed, voice hoarse and rough. He looked around frantically, searching for a lie that did not exist. “The Skeppy statue? It’s—” When he saw nobody but Sam, understanding dawned in him, his face darkening with despair.</p>
<p>Sam’s heart ached. He hated that feeling. It was why he preferred machines and redstone and codes over everything else. Equations and formulas never changed, and therefore never disappointed him. Anything he put into paper was always going to give him the answer he was looking for. Emotions, on the other hand, was unpredictable. No matter how many charts and graphs he could make, there would always be a wild card he did not account for.</p>
<p>Sam turned to his friend, his brows furrowing as his lip pursed. He found it difficult to open his jaw, like they were wired shut and his tongue charred to ashes. “Bad—”</p>
<p>Bad shook his head. Raising his hands, he removed Sam’s hold on him and looked around with a calmer mind. The statue room was still the same, empty and void, save for the one gem statue that remained luscious and clean. There was no Skeppy that ran rampant trying to destroy his builds. There was no Skeppy that was freed from Schlatt’s possession. All there was is a white lie, one intended to get his attention and nothing more.</p>
<p>Reality is often cruel. Dying would hurt far less.</p>
<p>Sam deflated, taking his hands back. “Bad, I’m sorry—”</p>
<p>“No,” he wisped, looking down. He didn’t seem all too bothered by the vines around him, like an endless embrace that covered him in his sleep. “Don’t say anything, Sam.” He covered his face with his hands, his back hunched as his hair fell past his face. “It’s not your fault.”</p>
<p><em>It is my fault</em>, he wanted to say. He shouldn’t have raised his hopes up like that. Bad hated nothing more than lies and anything that is less than truthful. When damage is done to redstone, it was often visible and fixable, even if it was sometimes more complicated than others. But when damage is done to people, it was invisible and irreversible, and it affected them in more ways than one could ever imagine. Sam is a creator, a builder – he wasn’t used to destroying things; especially when it came to other people.</p>
<p>Sam’s tongue ran dry. “Bad, what even is this?” He gestured to the red roots that run untended on the floor, and the bloody vines that hung violently from the ceilings and floating lights. He then pointed to the roots around Bad, that curled around his sleeping form like a cocoon in the midst of formation. “Did you do this? Is that’s why you’ve been sleeping so much?”</p>
<p>Bad looked up from his hands. He stared at the vines that surrounded him, and still covering the lower half of his body. He didn’t look as if he was a hurry to get out anytime soon. “I don’t know what it is,” he admitted. “I remembered I slept in a bed here, but…” He trailed off, like his memory turned fuzzy the more he went on. “Then that’s it.”</p>
<p>“Have you… at least woken up once or twice?”</p>
<p>“… not that I know of, no.”</p>
<p>Sam took a deep breath. Bad turned to him with dark eyes, being exhausted despite having freshly woken.</p>
<p>“Bad, you’ve been asleep for two <em>weeks</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Philza burst from the house, panic flaring through his body. By the everlasting jukebox was Tommy, who’d deemed the machine as his go-to spot whenever he had free time. The music was calm and relaxing, but they took an abrupt turn into sharp and alert as Philza called out his name.</p>
<p>Tommy hovered over to his father, tilting his head in confusion. The music from the jukebox had a new layer of mystery and confusion, like a soundtrack in a thriller movie. Philza stared at his ghost son, well aware of the music, only now taking note that Tommy couldn’t hide his emotions even if he tried. The music was a dead giveaway, as well as the shade of his form. Tommy was now a tense gold, eager to know the cause of his sudden outburst.</p>
<p>“Yes, Philza?” he asked.</p>
<p>Philza ran a hand through his hair, his hat pushed aside but never falling off. “Tommy,” he started somberly, tone low. “What do you know about this island?”</p>
<p>Tommy tilted his head to the other side. He had a habit of doing such whenever someone asked him questions. It was something he would do when he was a child, but he made a conscious effort to fix it after Techno called him a sissy. As much as Philza wanted to bask in nostalgia, where times were much easier, he didn’t have time for that. Right now, he needed answers.</p>
<p>“Island? This one?” He nodded with Philza nodded. “The one we’re standing on?” Philza nodded again. Tommy’s mouth formed an “O”, nodding vigorously as he understood the question. The adult looked at him intensely. “This island’s a great island! Me and Ghostbut made Logstedshire here once. We had an apple to pray to the gods – oh, it’s rotten now. And, and—sometimes people would visit me. BadBoyHalo even gave me my disc!”</p>
<p>Philza tried to mask his disappointment, but he must have failed. Tommy’s form took a darker shade, and the music turned sour. “No, Tommy, I’m trying to ask about the coordinates.” He paused when Tommy was faced with a shade of confusing green. The jukebox made a record scratch for a split second, before returning to a suspenseful tune. He almost forgot that Tommy didn’t know what coordinates are. He rephrased his question. “Is this island… moving?”</p>
<p>To his surprise, Tommy did have an answer. He nodded vigorously again, like he was proud to know the answer to the million netherite question. “Yes! It is!” he said happily, like it was a completely normal thing for islands to move around like his braincells. “It’s my island, after all. It’s cooler than all the other islands <em>combined</em>.”</p>
<p>Philza spluttered. He choked on air. That wasn’t what he was expecting; but then again, it <em>is</em> Tommy he’s dealing with. “But <em>why</em> is it moving?” he demanded. “It took me months to find it.”</p>
<p>Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know <em>why</em>,” he admitted, “but it’s cool, don’t you think? I can travel the world without ever leaving my island, my home, and my disc.” His face brightened. “And now you’re here, too! I even have someone to talk to. What more could I possibly want?”</p>
<p>“Your family?” Philza asked. “Your brothers? Your friends? Don’t you want them to see them again?”</p>
<p>“They’re cool and all,” Tommy agreed, “but I don’t think they want to see me.” He hovered around Philza sadly, his form dark blue and music slow. “Tubbo still exiled me and all that stuff. I don’t want to be a burden.”</p>
<p>His mood changed as quickly as a fox changes its tactics. Tommy has always been an emotional kid in the past, and it never changed even after all his wars and the trauma he’d been through. He always acted by his heart and never his head. It was what made him Tommy, why he was so different from his brothers.</p>
<p>Tommy is still Tommy. This will never change.</p>
<p>Tommy turned to him with a hopeful face, but it was strained and perhaps even desperate. Philza’s heart strained from the sight. He never liked to see his sons suffer. “But you don’t hate me, right?” he asked, volume low. “You’re here for me, right?”</p>
<p><em>Nobody hates you</em>, Philza wanted to say. But this wasn’t the time for it.</p>
<p>Philza nodded, returning a smile as he put a hand on his ghostly head. It was semi-solid, like solid mist. “Of course I am,” he answered, ruffling his hair. “You’re my son.”</p>
<p>Tommy wrapped his arms around him. Philza did the same.</p>
<p>“I will always be here for you.”</p>
<p>The music turned warm and joyful.  </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Arc II: Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not everyday you get to carry your father in your coat. Especially when your father has taken a liking to a book and can only communicate to you via ink on paper. Fundy decides that this is the least outrageous thing he’s seen in his life, and he opted to give Ghostbur 2.0 a chance. If he can believe that people can return in the form of child ghosts, he’ll take this supernatural happening with a grain of salt, even if it may seem like a cruel prank.</p><p>Fundy stared at Tubbo. The teen was sitting by the president’s table, resting his cheeks in his palm. He stared at the papers that were laid out before him, written in perfect print which was a formal proposal from another faction. A quill rested in the ink bottle, but never touched.</p><p>“Is anything wrong?” Fundy asked, trying to sound sympathetic. Comfort wasn’t his forte. He’ll admit that he rarely gives regard to anybody’s feelings in the past, especially towards the people close to him, but this was his president. Tubbo was supposed to lead the country that they live in, and he can’t do that if he’s not feeling his best.</p><p>Tubbo glanced up to him, but his sour expression didn’t change. It was as if someone turned his smile upside down, instead of the opposite. He sighed, shoulders slumping.</p><p>“It’s just—” He looked down, burying his face in his hands. “It’s just that I’m not over Tommy.” His voice cracked, expressing more pain than he let on for the past few months. “Why didn’t he recognize me? Why wouldn’t he come <em>home</em>?”</p><p>The atmosphere took a drastic turn. Instead of the stiff, awkward tension that prickled in the air, it was taken down and replaced by a quiet hum of sorrow and grief. The room wasn’t large to begin with, and the grief for a lost friend quickly filled the room like colored smoke, drowning the people in it. Fundy’s breath hitched, words barely formulating in his head. He didn’t know what to answer. He lost his father, but he’d returned in the form of a ghost and they made amends. Tommy returned briefly as one, as he’d heard from the others, but he never talked to anybody. It was Philza who told them that Tommy had moved on.</p><p>Whatever happened to his body, however, Philza didn’t share. Fundy didn’t like the sound of that. He remembered Tubbo tensing up, forcing a smile onto his face as he told the adult that he was happy for him. That he was relieved that Tommy found peace. He also remembered his smile falling as soon as he turned his back, teeth clenched and heavy breaths choking to sobs, but Fundy didn’t think much of it. Grief came in different forms, but they’re always caused by the same motive. They lost something dear to them. While Fundy responded to his father’s death with anger and spite, Tubbo faced Tommy’s with something far more complicated. And Fundy didn’t understand that.</p><p>There was a stark difference between them. The people close to them left the mortal coil behind. But Wilbur returned as Ghostbur, a remnant of the man he once was. He was not Wilbur nor will he ever be, but that was enough. They spent time together and Fundy got Ghostbur to acknowledge his feelings and future. A replacement, perhaps, but it was comfort. Fundy was able to heal and move on from his childhood shadow and face the light. Ghostbur was able to settle the regrets in his soul until he could pass on – that was until he was pulled back to the mortal realm again, and was possessing the book that Fundy carried.</p><p>Tubbo, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky. Having lost Wilbur, his mentor; Schlatt, his biological father; and now Tommy, his best friend – it must have taken a huge toll on his mind. He was only 16, and yet he was facing tragedies that would cripple adults and leave them paralyzed for days. Consecutive losses and death plagued his daily life, and people started to wonder whether if he were used to it. But he hadn’t, and each time hurt as much as the last. Each death was a permanent scar in his mind, and there would be no healing for such. It was said that time healed all scars, but the wound stung worse with each passing moment.</p><p>This was the ravine between Tubbo and Fundy. Both having lost someone they loved, but only one was gifted the chance for healing and amendments. The other was left in the dark, forgotten by all, as he slowly walks into the darker realms of his own pain. Hurt and grief can change someone, but they can also break. The same hammer that shapes steel can shatter porcelain.</p><p>The book in Fundy’s coat warmed up and shook, like Ghostbur was trying to catch his attention. It burned, scalding Fundy’s side until it was too warm for him to bear. With a panicked yelp, Fundy removed his coat, sending the book and various belongings clattering on the wooden floor, which included several pieces of iron pieces, feathers, string, and a trident with the name <em>Ant </em>carved into the hilt. Fundy, glaring at the leather-bound book, brushed his steaming shirt as he put his jacket back on.</p><p>Tubbo stared, having broke out of his momentary despair. His eyes stuck to the shaking book on the floor, glowing silver and blue as if it had a life of its own. Pushing his chair backwards, he rose to his feet and leaned over the table to get a better look at the book. “What is that?” he demanded, aghast. “Is it <em>alive</em>?”</p><p>“No, it’s not!” Fundy cried. “Just because it’s moving doesn’t mean it’s breathing!” He knelt down and swept the book up, taking it between his fingers and laying it on the table before it burnt his skin. The book opened with a vengeance, the pages flipping like a strong gust of wind had broken into the room, until it stopped at an empty page with fresh letters written on the very top.</p><p><em>Why wouldn’t he come home? Is he still on vacation? </em>Ghostbur wrote in cursive. <em>I’m sure Tommy will come home eventually. After all, you’re his Tubbo! </em></p><p>At first, Fundy and Tubbo squinted at the writing, struggling to decipher the sentence. Putting two dyslexic people as the leaders of a nation didn’t sound like the brightest idea.</p><p>“Ghostbur,” Fundy snapped impertinently, glaring daggers at the inanimate object. “You know I can’t read cursive. You know this.” Tubbo snapped to him as if he were insane, but when more words miraculously appear on the page, he whipped back with wide eyes, in utter disbelief of what his eyes were catching. Sure, he can see it, but can he perceive it? Fundy sighed, tapping the table beside the book. “Of all the times to develop an interest in calligraphy, dad, it better not be now.”</p><p>Tubbo turned to Fundy. “Ghostbur?” he repeated. Then with a more appalled tone, <em>“Dad?”</em></p><p>Fundy ignored him, and trained his attention on the book. More words began to appear like ink leaking onto paper, forming more words like an invisible quill dancing in air.</p><p><em>Oh, sorry about that, son</em>, Ghostbur wrote with his normal handwriting. Somehow, he managed to make regular writing look sullen, like he could convey emotion through ink alone. <em>I tend to forget things sometimes. Anyway, how are you, Tubbo?</em></p><p>Tubbo’s eye twitched at the revelation of events. With his mess of a hair, bruised patches under his eyes, the look on his face told Fundy everything he needed to know. Tubbo was not trusting his own senses to decipher this discovery. Fundy nudged his shoulder, bringing him back to the world of the conscious. Shaking his head, Tubbo wiped his sweaty palms on his uniform, before facing the problem had on, taking in a deep breath as he came face-to-face with the book that came to life.</p><p>Tubbo chewed his bottom lip. “Wil—no, Ghostbur?” he rasped, more to himself than them. “Is that you?”</p><p>Words appeared as soon as Tubbo asked. An instantaneous reply. <em>Yes, it’s me, Tubbo! </em>Ghostbur wrote, adding a smiley face at the end of the sentence. <em>Are you not happy to see me? Oh no. Fundy, can you get Tubbo some blue, please? Maybe that’ll lift his spirits a little.</em></p><p>Fundy groaned. “Enough with the blue, dad.”</p><p>Tubbo’s voice cracked, but the expression on his face was anything but horror. Rather, his eyes were opened wide, his jaw hanging open like its joints were wired tight. “Why are you still here?” Tubbo looked around frantically, tie escaping from his suit and hanging loosely around his neck. When he saw no traces of a ghost, he swiveled to Fundy for an explanation. Fundy shook his head before he could get his voice out.</p><p><em>I don’t know</em>, Ghostbur continued, giving the exact same response from when Fundy asked him the same question. Only Tubbo’s reaction was far more scattered and unorganized, whereas Fundy was capable of composing himself within minutes. Tubbo sunk back to his seat, chair sliding backwards as he leaned onto the backrest, lips quivering but never saying a word.</p><p>“So that was all you,” Tubbo breathed, pressing his palms on his temples. His wide eyes were unfocused, solely staring at the mahogany table and the unsigned document, untouched. “All those books and one-sentenced letters.” He turned back up, in utter disbelief. “That was all <em>you</em>.”</p><p>If possessed books could show emotion, Fundy was certain that Ghostbur would be dancing in the air, delighted that his work was recognized by his intended recipients. In these days, sending letters was a difficult task, especially when you’re dead and everybody else is not.</p><p><em>Of course it was me</em>, Ghostbur wrote, handwriting coming off as rushed and aggressive. Suppose he was irritated? Or was he ecstatic? It was hard to differentiate emotions when it came to handwriting. <em>Do you see any other ghosts on this server? I’m unique!</em> He drew sparkles at the end of the sentence, as if emphasizing his point. This was most definitely Ghostbur. If any proof before hadn’t convinced Fundy before, this certainly did.</p><p>“For god’s sake, Ghostbur—” Ghostbur continued writing.</p><p>
  <em>Haha! That’s a total lie. Of course I’m not the only one. That would be ridiculous!</em>
</p><p>Fundy shut up instantly. Tubbo frowned at his reaction, returning to look at the book, wondering what managed to silence him within seconds. Fundy paled, mind putting together all the possible scenarios in his head. Ghostbur returned to the land of living by possessing books. There’s no reason why the other deceased people shouldn’t.</p><p>“Who else is there?” Fundy didn’t notice how badly his voice was shaking until Tubbo glanced at him with concern. Fundy put his hand on his chest, sweat soaking through his uniform. “Who came back with you?”</p><p><em>Hmm</em>, Ghostbur wrote as if he were thinking aloud. <em>I don’t remember much, but I do know that Schlatt’s definitely back. There’s three others who I don’t recognize. That’s strange, even for me.</em></p><p>Three. Three others? That’s five – not three. Anyone who kept up with the world’s happenings and has basic knowledge of addition knew that was false. Only Schlatt, Tommy and Wilbur died. Three in total. Fundy looked towards Tubbo, who was equally confused. For all they knew, Ghostbur’s memories were frazzled and that messed with his ability to count.</p><p>The dead were back. Fundy whipped to Tubbo, whose world was crashing around him. With a thump, he fell to his knees, clenching his head. His forehead collided with the wooden floor, body shaking but without any screams. His being racked with violent jerks and chokes, his breaths erratic as he began to hyperventilate.</p><p>Fundy shot towards him, putting his hand on the teen’s shoulder, he immediately retracted it when Tubbo reacted with an outward flinch. “Tubbo, what’s wrong?” His mind chided him for such an insensitive question. Everything’s wrong. Neither of them expected the return of the dead. “Tubbo, come on, speak to me.”</p><p>Scratchy writing hissed from the book, but Fundy didn’t have the time to look at what Ghostbur had to say. The writing grew louder and louder, trying to catch his attention, but it was failing. Fundy stared helplessly at the breaking teen, desperate but not knowing how to soothe him.</p><p>“He didn’t come back.” Tubbo choked, hugging his head as he curled into a tighter ball on the floor, refusing to look up. “Tommy didn’t come home. Tommy didn’t come back. Tommy doesn’t—” He stopped, coherent sentences replaced by inhuman garbles and distressed cries. Then, all at once, Tubbo screamed with all of his grief and sorrow, channeling his anguish in a guttural roar:</p><p>
  <em>“WHY WOULDN’T TOMMY COME HOME?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>George glared impatiently, tapping his foot as the timer began to tick. The man that stood before them used to be a clever warrior who escaped their grasps countless times, but it was as if he lost his voice and intelligence just for this conversation. Dream did nothing but stare at the floor and fiddle with his cloak, which only added to Sapnap’s irritation.</p><p>“Dude,” Sapnap growled, visibly upset from the betrayal, “if you’re not going to say anything, get out from El Rapids.”</p><p>George shot him a look. “At least give him a chance.” Despite his reasonable words, his tone was anything but. It was just something that he was obligated to say; something that was hammered into him so much that it’s become his natural response to similar situations. It didn’t have any true meaning, and they all knew about it. His words meant nothing.</p><p>Dream sighed, shoulders sagging. Faced with the hatred-fueled glares from his former beloved teammates, he was small, like he could shrivel into the ground or melt into a pile of dirt. They looked at him as if they prefer him as the latter, their previous brotherly atmosphere no more.</p><p>“I know you won’t forgive me,” Dream started. “And I don’t want or need you to.” George’s eyes narrowed at him, but he was intrigued. His back straightened, footing changing to one of hesitant acceptance. Sapnap’s stature didn’t change, still hostile and unwelcoming. Dream sucked in a sharp breath. “But what happened in the past was entirely my fault. You two followed me without a shred of doubt, yet I put you both through hell and back. None of that pain was deserved, and I had deteriorated into nothing more than a tyrant.</p><p>“I wanted to be a ruler that this server needed, but instead I became a dictator that everybody resented. I was too proud to see the flaws in my plan, and I let my pride blind me when you needed me the most. People suffered in my hands. Everybody did.</p><p>“I wanted to create a safe place where we could live in peace, but I turned our home into a warzone. Everyday you lived in fear for your lives because of the decisions I made. Every moment was an exhausting one as you needed to remain alert for enemies that I made.</p><p>“I put you two in danger more times than I can count. But no matter how many times you nearly died, or how many times I was bested by Tommy, you remained by my side and even helped me at my lowest point.</p><p>“Putting all my attention and obsessing over a disc is something that I will regret all my life. I will carry this mistake and burden until the day I die. You two don’t deserve any of the pain you’ve been through in the past – I did. I brought this upon myself, but you suffered the consequences that were meant to be mine.</p><p>“For all of that, I am deeply sorry. For everything I caused and all the agony you felt. You two were the best brothers that anyone could ask for.”</p><p>With that, Dream kept his gaze on his boots, not facing any of their stares. A rush of emotions gushed through him, all whispering different wishes that he harbored. Some small, hopeful part of him wished that they would accept his apology, and it would be back to how it was. Sapnap would still be at odds with George; George would be flustered every time Dream teases him; they would chase each other during their manhunts—</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Dream looked up, hope shattered.</p><p>Sapnap put his hands on his hips, still glaring daggers at his former friend. “You really think after everything you put us through, we’re going to let you off just because you said sorry?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No chance, Dream. There’s no way we’re going to forgive you.”</p><p>Dream turned to George, who wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were glued onto the sea, the endless blue sea, his favorite color. <em>He hadn’t been listening</em>.</p><p>Dream nodded, pulling his hood down to his face. “I know,” he said. He managed to keep his voice from cracking, but tears have already begun to spring to his eyes. He turned on his heels, facing the direction that he came from. Towards the wild. Towards the exile that he’s given himself. A punishment that he deserved. “I know.”</p><p>He walked away.</p><p>Somewhere behind him, he heard their voices again, but they weren’t cold or heartless anymore. They were talking to each other, discussing the weather as if Dream hadn’t stopped by at all.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter finally brings focus to the Dream Team and Ghostbur &amp; Fundy. Finally.<br/>Also, despite my previous chapters, I will be attempting family friendly content where I refrain from using profanity!</p><p>P/S: Going dark because Techno yote SBI Family Dynamic in his stream.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Arc II: Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“I will always be here for you.”</em>
</p><p>Such a beautiful lie. He wondered if Tommy thought the same. </p><p>Philza wandered the island early in the morning. Despite being away from Tommy and his jukebox, he could still hear <em>Chirp</em> no matter where he went. It was as if the music followed him wherever he went, no matter how far he would escape to. Like a ghost haunting the living, the music notes were more than enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know whether it was endearing or frightening, to know that the ghost of his dead son was the central of this island’s existence.</p><p>Does Tommy know that he’s here? Does he know everything that goes on in this island? Philza didn’t know. What happens when he leaves the island? Can he find it like he did before? Philza knows he can’t stay here forever, and his son’s ghost can’t keep wandering a nowhere island for the rest of eternity.</p><p>He loved his son; he really did. He would give everything—his life, his soul—<em>anything</em>, to hold him in his arms, to watch him laugh with their family one more time. But the dead do not return. What was gone would never return. Like a bottle thrown out into sea. The waves carries the bottle away, towards an unknown destination found by someone else. Whoever it would end up in was out anyone’s control. It was only a matter of chance and fate.</p><p>Was this encounter with his son, too, a brush in fate?</p><p>Philza ducked his head instinctively as his forehead grazed the rough surface of a branch. His hand shot upwards, surprised, but was immediately relieved to see that there was no immediate danger. He wasn’t in his danger-filled world anymore; nor was he in the premises of the Dream SMP, where people’s next moments might be their last. He was in the middle of nowhere, with nobody but the ghost of his dead son. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he pushed the branch aside, taking note of its sturdiness. It was completely different from the withered ones he saw the first time he came here, despite being the same forest.</p><p>He looked around him, taking note of the once barren land, now full of life and song. This land couldn’t have been resurrected in the span of a few months. It would have taken years; if not, decades for the breath of light to return from the devastation that roamed free. The island followed Tommy from his death to his return. When Tommy was gone, it withered and shriveled up like him. When Tommy was back, content and joyful, the land blossomed, like a delicate jewel in an endless sea of sapphire. It would be beautifully poetic if the star of the tragedy didn’t happen to be his own son.</p><p> “Goddamn,” he said to himself, kneeling down to an exposed patch of earth. He slid his fingers into the dirt, astounded by the moisture and rich color. He hadn’t seen such fertile land for a long time. The lands back in the SMP were pale and sandy because of all the wars, especially after potions started entering the warfields. In a world of desperation, anything could be weaponized for the sake of survival. Strength potions used for weak patients and poison potions used as pesticides were becoming a common sight in battle.</p><p>Since young, Philza always observed battles from the sky. In the air, one would be surprised by how many conflicts they would witness amongst the clouds. Every single fight was the same, and the goals monotonous and bland. The strong tramples on the weak, and justice-driven individuals would rise against as a resistance. The weak would become the strong and be consumed by power, becoming the very thing they swore they would destroy. A new rebellion forms, and the cycle begins anew. Perhaps his wings were the very things that allowed him to see and understand the things others do not. But what was this gift of sight for, if he can’t teach the people around him the same?</p><p>In the Dream SMP where war was the only resolve, he felt nothing but sadness for everybody who lived here. All these conflicts and all these brawls, for what? There was no end to this. No epilogue for the suffering that ran rampant. This world is an orchestra where the curtains were never drawn. The musicians put their soul into their performances, but there would soon be no more left to give. They would collapse and die of exhaustion, and the audience would leave unsatisfied.</p><p> Wind bristled in the air, gracing his face. He looked up, blinking abruptly at a new scenery presented before his eyes. It was a clearing in the forest, with an abandoned shelter sitting at the very center, as if the forest was actively preserving the building. Overgrown vines and moss coated the stripped wooden walls, like a gateway to a magical world in a forgotten fairy tale.</p><p>Swallowing bile, Philza took his hand off a tree’s trunk and approached the wooden monument. Grass bristled by his boots, with dandelions blooming delicately as he walked by, as if singing a tune welcoming his arrival. Each step turned his legs into lead, almost too stiff and heavy to continue forwards. Even from a distance, he recognized the house’s craftsmanship almost instantly. The carvings, the roof designs—it was all too familiar to be ignored. He’d seen this same creation from years ago, where his middle child taught his siblings how to draw using wrapped charcoal and goatskin.</p><p>This haven was here all this time, hidden away from the mainland of the island. Tucked away in the forest and trees, as if the island itself were trying to cover up its existence. Philza wouldn’t have discovered this place if he hadn’t decided to venture out alone.</p><p>He walked into the cramp house. It was small, the cobblestone floorboards cracking and falling apart. The barrels’ lids hung loose, its interior empty and inhabited by a dried-up bird’s nest. The walls were cracked, vines and flowers growing in between them. Life finds a way, and this is proof. The owner was gone, but it was not abandoned by the light of life.</p><p>Philza put his hand on the walls. It was cold, with dust caked in the crevices. Fading paintings and various compasses laid forgotten on the floor. How long has it been? This was a place where Wilbur—or at least, Ghostbur—used to live. It was a place where he and Tommy shared after Tommy was exiled. There’d been so many memories here, so many moments that were nothing more than diminished remembrances. Everything in this place had a story behind them, no matter how stupid and brief, but the people in those tales are forever gone.</p><p><em>Drip</em>.</p><p>The adult looked down. There was a visible water drop on the floor, but it hadn’t been raining. The roof was still intact, even with the passage of time. Where did it come from? He raised his hand to his head to feel dry tufts of hair. He then wiped his face with the back of his hand, and he felt warm moisture on his skin. Oh. He chuckled to himself, but it came out weak, pitiable. He stared at the singular water droplet on the floor, making fun of himself of how pathetic of a father he’d been. He was never there when his sons needed support the most. They were thrown into horrors at the age where they should be in school making friends and fussing over essays. It was all his fault. He robbed them of the childhood they deserved by being absent from their lives.</p><p>He glanced away, turning his sight to somewhere else, focusing on anything but the tear he just shed. But he faltered, noting that it was different from the floor around it. It was darker in color, and smoother in comparison to cobblestone. The dark grey shade reminded him of something else – something that was rarely seen for how outrageously expensive it was.</p><p>Philza knelt down and put his hand on the dark patch. Almost instantaneously he recognized the hum of magic whirring in its core, despite its age and the island’s absurd, changing placements. He turned to the pile of compasses and grabbed one, hands trembling in disbelief.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he brought the compass to the lodestone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong, creeper boy?” Skeppy taunted, an uncharacteristic sneer plastered on his face. Sam stood a good distance away, posture tense as he was face-to-face with the deranged tyrant. “Too scared to come close? I don’t bite.” He grinned, revealing sharp teeth underneath. They weren’t Skeppy’s. Another trait that Schlatt has incorporated onto his host. Sam’s skin crawled as he wondered—would Schlatt eventually replace Skeppy entirely? Would his face morph into something else?</p><p>Sam shuddered, unnerved that he was facing the ghost alone. “Yeah, not happening, Schlatt,” he snipped. “Why don’t you just leave Skeppy’s body and move on? We could all move past this drama and let you go.” <em>If Bad doesn’t find a way to strangle ghosts and kill him a second time.</em></p><p>Schlatt scoffed, moving his head the way he would’ve if he were fanning his face with a hand. “Pfft, no way,” he said. “I like this body. Toned, muscly, lean, and—oh!” He looked between his legs. “No wonder BBH’s heads over heels with this guy.”</p><p>Sam choked on air. He didn’t even know how to retort to <em>that</em>. Out of all the things he was expecting, a dirty joke wouldn’t even exist on the list.</p><p>“Speaking of the man, where is he?” Schlatt looked around like a predator. “Haven’t seen him in a while. It’s lonely without him, I must admit. He also makes great cupcakes, but I think he should cut off the gluten-free lifestyle. It’s bland and boring. I don’t know how he could live life like this!”</p><p>Bad made muffins before in attempt to get Skeppy out. It was a pure act of desperation, where Bad was almost convinced that letting Skeppy’s body taste something familiar to stimulate his memory would bring his friend back, but all it gained in return was Schlatt insulting his baking skills. Bad didn’t even glance at another baked good since then.</p><p>Sam glared at him, fists clenched. “You don’t need to know,” he snapped. “The one thing you need to know, though, is that we’re finding a way to destroy you and get our friend back. If we’re not doing this the easy way, we’re doing it the hard way.” He grit his teeth. “By then, you’ll have hell to pay.”</p><p>The expression on Schlatt’s face shifted drastically. Skeppy could be a terrifying person if he wanted to, but it was Schlatt’s aura that twisted his expression to something inhuman, something that only belonged to the face of the devil. He glowered at Sam, wide eyes piercing into his soul, projecting the horrors of the world into his mind a thousand times over. He needn’t speak to drive anyone insane.</p><p>“I don’t care about what you’re going to do,” Schlatt growled. Suddenly, Skeppy’s voice was tainted with another. Schlatt’s voice echoed with Skeppy’s word for word, overlaying over one another as they resonate in Sam’s ears. “You will never be rid of me. I will escape, and I will retake my throne on Manburg once more.” Skeppy’s voice completely disappeared, and only Schlatt’s remained.</p><p>
  <em>“Manburg will be mine.”</em>
</p><p>Sam’s breath clogged his throat. He felt trapped, surrounded by an invisible barrier around his head. His chest ached, but it was nothing compared to the unbridled fear he was facing. His bones melted into jelly. His muscles turned to nothing but mush. It was only as cold sweat dripped down his face and Schlatt’s grin that he realized that Schlatt was the one in shackles, not him. If this was the fear he could inflict whilst in chains, what terrors would he cause with power as a president?</p><p>He can’t let that happen. Schlatt cannot escape no matter what.</p><p>“That—” Sam’s voice shook the moment he opened his mouth. Schlatt’s sneer widened. Sam steeled himself, but his nerves were still frayed. He was rendered defenseless with nothing but words and a stare. “That will <em>never </em>happen.” Even his statements sounded hollow, like a fragile lie that would shatter any moment.</p><p>Schlatt burst into laughter, his voice retreating as Skeppy’s returned. It sounded less intimidating with Skeppy’s voice, high-pitched and cracked, but the effects lingered. Sam jumped as he shook his head, hands reaching for his sword out of pure instinct for defense.</p><p>“We will see, Sam,” he hollered. “We will see who emerges victorious.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade breathed in as his bees settled into the new hive. For a second he was worried that they would reject their new home, but it seems that he was overthinking all this time. Finally, he would get fresh honey for toast every morning. Or he could smear it all over a zombie and watch the bees kill it for him. He might be retired, but he still found joy in death and chaos, albeit stale and repetitive.</p><p>There was a knock on the door. Surprised, he put the hive to where it belongs and went to it. He never got any visitors. His base was in the middle of nowhere, and he was frankly surprised that someone managed to find him. Was it a villager from a nearby village coming for business? It would be great if they sold ender pearls or golden carrots. They were always good to have.</p><p>He opened the door, adjusting his glasses as he stared at the entourage of L’manburg citizens, all donning bloodied aprons. At the very front was a brunet teenager, one he recognized.</p><p>“Technoblade,” Tubbo declared, holding up an axe, “you are under arrest for your crimes of terrorism against L’Manburg.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Spoilers for the most recent Techno &amp; Tommy stream here!!</p><p>WHEN TUBBO WENT, "how?" AND IS SURPRISED TO KNOW THAT TOMMY IS ALIVE AND HOW HEARTBROKEN HE SOUNDED WHEN HE REALIZED HE WAS WITH TECHNOBLADE AND DREAM BEING MOTHER GOTHEL INCARNATE IS HDSJFHSKFHFKSFHKJASFHDSAKGFHSDAGFSDGFSAFGJS</p><p>also badlands egg arc is going more places than the dreamon arc you cannot convince me otherwise</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Arc II: Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hello there!</p>
<p>This is Fundy’s guide to staying sane when you’re living with ghosts.</p>
<p>Since the Manburg Revolution, Fundy had adapted an affinity with the undead. Whether it be zombies or unrestful spirits, they always came to him like moths to a flame. With a dead father, a dead uncle, and another uncle who was surrounded by death, he must have developed some supernatural sense when it came to ghosts. He would often wake up to baby zombies chewing on his fingers, gums gnawing on his flesh. Skeletons would use him as target practice even when there were others present with him. So yes, he’s a magnet for the dead and undead alike, though sometimes it was more useful than others.</p>
<p>For months, this curse was a nuisance. It was suicide to venture out in the woods alone, as zombies and skeletons would and will attempt to take his head. He always stayed home at night, because the lands were prowling with mobs and undead monsters. When Schlatt first returned, he was the first to notice, be hunted down and possessed, as not only was he affiliated with spirits more than others, it was also because he used to be Schlatt’s trusted righthand man that betrayed him. Schlatt wanted revenge, and that was natural, but Fundy couldn’t sleep a wink when Ghostbur was close by since then.</p>
<p>Fast forward time, and now he was stuck with a possessed book, who still inhabited the spirit of his dead father within its pages. The fairy tale ending that he lived through had been nothing more than an opening for a horrific sequel, one that he did not understand. The last chapter had come to an end, but the book was not over. They have come face-to-face with a new challenge; one they must overcome to reach the next one. But the question is: can they solve this puzzle with less pieces on the board?</p>
<p>Fundy overheard Tubbo’s conversation with Quackity. It was unintentional, but he learned information that should otherwise be hidden from everybody else. His hairs stood on its ends and his heart skipped a beat, but what he heard cannot be unheard.</p>
<p>“<em>Until we find a way to send the ghosts off, our alliance stands before then</em>,” they chorused, as if chanting a spell to a ritual.</p>
<p>So Tubbo has told Quackity about Ghostbur. Fundy didn’t know whether if they discussed the whereabouts of other ghosts like Glatt and GhostInnit. His mind hit a blank when he tried to think of all the things they would do. What did Ghostbur say? Fundy opened his book and flipped through the pages. One sentence had caught his and Tubbo’s attention simultaneously, and it boggled his head since.</p>
<p>He came to a stop when he reached the familiar writing. <em>–Schlatt’s definitely back. There’s three others who I don’t recognize.</em> One of the ghosts was Tommy, as Ghostbur couldn’t recognize Tommy as he was a ghost. Ghostbur can’t remember sad things. There were two unknown variables in this equation, two others that were off the radar since the very beginning. Not one, but <em>two</em> spirits still lingered in their land—somewhere—without any sightings.</p>
<p>Who were they? Why were they here?</p>
<p>Since Fundy was relatively new to this world, this answer could only be answered by select people. The people who’ve been in this world since the very beginning. The founders: Dream, George, Sapnap, Bad, Ponk, Alyssa, Callahan, and Sam. If anyone would know, it was them. Something must have happened before all the wars occurred. Something drastic that led to the wandering ghosts who were brought back the same time as Ghostbur. Foreshadowing from so long ago that it slipped their minds.</p>
<p>The question was obvious. <em>Who had fallen when it all began? </em>There’s only one person he could ask.</p>
<p>The journey to the Badlands was short and brief. He’d left Ghostbur’s book by his table, bidding him a quick farewell before he received an answer in ink. He could only pray that Ghostbur wouldn’t disown him a second time once he gets back. Fundy arrived at the end of the wooden path, staring down at the quartz gate as he sucked in a deep breath.</p>
<p>The mansion itself suffered damages, revealing the sturdy obsidian layer beneath. They might not have large forces like L’Manburg, but they compensated for raw firepower and defense. Unlike every other nation, the Badlands radiated a suffocating aura, one that threatened to kill anyone who dare trespass in their territory. If it wasn’t for their founder being a muffin-addict, and their members consisting of a diamond troll, a gay cat and a hotheaded engineer, they would be the kings of the world.</p>
<p>Fundy steeled his nerves and ventured into the mansion’s grounds, the tall quartz structure looming over him. Pools of boiling water surrounded him, surface bubbling and popping. Threatening crimson vines crept up the walls. The everlasting fire pillars greeted his passage, with the insignia of the Badlands painted on them. <em>Red and blue</em>, he noted, reminded of the Founders’ colors. He was in enemy territory now, and his safety unaccounted for.</p>
<p>He caught movement from the corner of his eyes. Looking up in surprise, he perceived a glass-walled room which interior appeared to be a bedroom, but it was difficult to tell what the insides were like from the outside. Blue-tinted glass obscured the details, but a glowing, airy figure was painstakingly visible behind the glass.</p>
<p>Fundy’s eyes widened, taking steps back to get a better look. <em>That’s a ghost. A ghost he didn’t recognize.</em> Before he could think twice, he darted into the mansion, uncaring of the dangers that he might face. That was one of the two nameless ghosts. If he could know who they are now, it’ll definitely make his search easier.</p>
<p>Thankfully, the mansion was easy to navigate. It was large on the outside, but the house itself barely had any furniture. It’s to be expected, as everybody was too preoccupied with their problems to bother with decorations. He stormed up the stairs, through the halls, and reached the room where the ghost lurked. He slammed the door open, preparing for an unfamiliar face and a confrontation.</p>
<p>Instead, he was met with a very familiar face. Two, in fact. One asleep on the bed and the other was the ghost. Hovering in air, the ghost turned to him in surprise, but he looked sullen even with shock on his face.</p>
<p> Fundy choked on his saliva. “Skeppy?” he demanded, spluttering. “You died?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lH1tUQIZHU">Skeppy blinked</a>, ghostly form freezing in surprise. He can see him. Fundy can <em>see</em> him. After weeks of going without contact with anybody else, the first person who noticed his being and called him out was someone he didn’t know well.</p>
<p>“Skeppy?” Fundy repeated, seeing that he turned silent. “You died?”</p>
<p>The ghost shook his head. Whether if it was to answer his question or to clear his head, it wasn’t clear. But he hovered closer to Fundy, pointing a finger to his chest with shaking arms. “You…” Skeppy started, his own voice sounding distant and echo-y. It’s been a while since he heard himself speak. He was taken aback as Fundy stared at him with a horrified stare, fully aware of his existence. “You can see me?”</p>
<p> Fundy nodded, posture stiff as shock passed through his system. “Yeah—yeah,” he stammered, raising his arms instinctively. “I can,” he choked. “Yes, I can see you—”</p>
<p>Skeppy didn’t know why he repeated it three times, but he assumed that it was to make a point. That or Fundy was having trouble believing that ghosts exists, which was difficult to believe, since most of his family had turned to ghosts each. Skeppy frowned, hovering away and moving to Bad’s side, who was asleep.</p>
<p>“Can you keep it down?” he asked, putting a finger to his lips. “Bad’s asleep right now. You’ll wake him up.”</p>
<p>Fundy craned his neck to the bed. Tucked in layers of blankets was the demon, who was as still as a statue and showed no sign of coming to. The only sign that indicated he was alive was his rhythmic breathing, but even that was shallow and barely noticeable. He could easily pass off as dead if not for his occasional murmurs in his sleep, head turning and shifting.</p>
<p>Skeppy rested his elbow on the bottom half of the bed, putting his cheek on his palm as he knelt on the floor, sitting by his friend. He would wait until he wakes up, no matter how long it would take.</p>
<p>Fundy swallowed, inching close to the exit but never leaving. “Why—” He smacked his own head to clear his thoughts. “Why is he asleep? It’s in the middle of day.” He knew better to question someone else’s sleep schedule, as he himself had a terrible one, but he found this uncanny. Some part of this whole ordeal didn’t sit right with him.</p>
<p>The ghost shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted, his eyes glued to his friend’s blank face. “I don’t understand how demons are and Bad never explained it to me.” He laid his head down on the bed, taking his hands from the mattress and hung them by his sides. “He sleeps a lot sometimes, especially after he’s hurt, but he’s never slept this long before.”</p>
<p> “Demons,” Fundy repeated. <em>Demons</em>. Holy cow. Bad’s a demon? Fundy only heard of the species in stories. Demons who used to guard End Cities but fled due to the invasion of the human race. Demons who used to be enslaved by the Ender Dragon until humans defeated the beast. He knew that they existed, but he never thought that someone he knew would be one of them. His mind swam. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that this muffin-loving family-friendly content addict would be a <em>demon</em>.</p>
<p>“Demons,” Skeppy confirmed. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve known him for years and I still don’t know anything about it.”</p>
<p>Fundy’s throat ran dry. How was Bad here when Dream destroyed the end portal? To them, the End was a different dimension that wasn’t meant to intersect with them. “Does—does anyone know this?” he stuttered. “How is he here? In the Overworld?” He held his head. “Wait, no, don’t answer that. I don’t think I can handle it.”</p>
<p>His world swayed. There was too much information to process at once. Skeppy’s a ghost, and Bad’s a demon. There’s so much to realize and take in, and Skeppy acted as if everything was normal, like it was common for someone to have a demon as a best friend. The Badlands were mysterious, no doubt, but this was only scratching the tip of the iceberg. Dying and turning into a ghost was just another day where they would move on to have their dead friend’s leftover bacon for breakfast.</p>
<p>Fundy would choose L’manburg over Badlands anyway. Not because of their resource difference, but it was because any sane person would lose their minds if they got to know the people.</p>
<p>“Why are you here, Fundy?” Skeppy asked, turning to the vice-president. “And how can you see me?” His expression clouded over with grief and frustration. “No one can. I’ve tried to get people’s attention for weeks.”</p>
<p>“How did you die?” Fundy clapped back, bewildered. “And when? The Revolution? You were still alive when Tommy gave his speech…” His eyes widened. “Were you caught up in that explosion? You didn’t make it out? Oh, no—”</p>
<p> Skeppy shot to his feet, holding his hands out. “Hold up, I didn’t die!” he interrupted him. “I’m still alive. I never died in the first place. I just got kicked out from my own body.”</p>
<p>Fundy froze. <em>Kicked out from my own body</em>. Fundy knew that feeling well. When Schlatt possessed his body, he remembered how helpless he felt when he watched his body from the sidelines, unable to interfere even when his loved ones got hurt. If it wasn’t for Niki’s sharp instincts, Glatt would have never been found out and Fundy would be forced to wander the lands as a disembodied spirit.</p>
<p>There were various ghosts in this server. There was Ghostbur, who found an affinity with books and literature. There was Tommy, who had a knack for escapism and tragic remembrances. The only ghost whom he knows that had the ability to possess others was Glatt, and Ghostbur mentioned that he too had returned alongside the other spirits. <em>One ghost down, one to go.</em> Ghostbur must have seen Skeppy. Ghosts could see and sense each other. Skeppy was given the boot from his own body, which could only mean—</p>
<p>“Schlatt,” Fundy blurted, alarmed as Skeppy’s face darkened with fury. “Don’t tell me—”</p>
<p>“Him,” Skeppy spat with all the venom he could muster. “I want him gone from my <em>body</em>.” He glared at his disfigured palms. Unlike the other ghosts, who had a stable form, Skeppy was made of mist, like a cloud that was easily blown away in the wind. “He used my voice, my face, my <em>memories </em>to hurt my best friend. I can’t let him get away with any of it!”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Even if it means killing me to get to him!”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ixxtwiMoIEQ">Fundy’s eyes flicked between the ghost and the demon</a>, a million thoughts rushing through his mind at once. Bad was still asleep, showing no signs of waking up any time soon. But he noticed something odd. Something that didn’t look natural. With cautious steps and Skeppy’s skeptical stare, he crouched to Bad’s side and removed the blankets from his body.</p>
<p>Fundy’s knees gave out.</p>
<p>Skeppy <em>screamed</em>.</p>
<p>Crimson blood soaked through the mattress like a violent shower, with various vines digging into Bad’s flesh all around his body.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Arc II: Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm so happy that a lot of people enjoyed my Choose Your Ending story for this book &lt;3 it means a lot to me and i enjoyed making it too! I'll make more some time in the future. :D</p><p>p/s: i've been seeing a lot of problematic books relating underage NSFW and stuff. my advice is just to ignore and report. i tried reporting one but apparently Ao3 deemed that it "Did not violate any rules and they can't remove it as they use the tags". I'm not naming any books or people - just know that there's people out there who won't take any advice.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Bad; please Bad—you can’t—Bad—!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Skeppy, stop. He’s—he’s dead.”</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By the time Philza got back to the hut, he saw a singular tower built of sand and gravel. A tower that wasn’t originally there; newly built during his brief absence. His first reaction was surprise, but it was soon replaced by uneasiness when he remembered the only residents on this island. Instinctively, he looked up, and saw a ghostly figure sitting at the very top.</p><p>Philza’s wings raised in alarm. “Tommy?” he called. Some time during his return, the music turned somber and static as if the jukebox was old and ruined. He hadn’t noticed it until now. it was such a consistent tune around his ears that he didn’t pick up the anomalies.</p><p>The ghost on the tower didn’t turn to him even as storm clouds gathered overhead, like a vortex circling the ghostly teen, pulling him to another dimension in the sky. Wind picked up, and thunder sounded in the darkening sky, as if a hurricane was about to occur. Slowly, Tommy rose to his feet, steady and firm despite the small platform under his feet. Back turned from his father, he raised his hand to the sky, lightning cackling at the swirling clouds.</p><p>“Tommy!” Philza spread his wings and took off into the sky, arm out to save his son from the thunderstorm. But he wasn’t fast enough, the distance between them too far for him to close in in only seconds.</p><p>Arm still raised and palm facing the storm, Tommy craned his neck to Philza, eyes glowing a brilliant shade of electric blue.</p><p><em>I love you</em>, he mouthed.</p><p>Lightning struck the teen just as his father grasped cold air. Singed grey feathers scattered from the sky.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The book on Fundy’s desk snapped open, flipping pages wildly as it drew to a blank page. Like lava cooling to obsidian, burning words were written line by line with magma instead of ink.</p><p>
  <em>I heard there was a special place.</em>
</p><p>Heat seeped through the words, smoke emitting from every stroke. It hissed like fire put out by the rain, but rendered useless as the flames ate away the bits of moisture.</p><p>The writing stopped for an abrupt moment, only to return with renewed vigor, the writer desperate to get the words out, like a frenzied college student scrawling their overdue essays.</p><p>
  <em>Where men could go and emancipate.</em>
</p><p>As if someone were lowering the book into an open fire, the edges of the book began to burn, paper turning to ash from the outer rim. The paper curled and darkened into cinders, leeching into the center and swallowing the words.</p><p>
  <em>The tyranny and bloodlust of their rulers.</em>
</p><p>The cover was set aflame, surrounding the book in bright blue flames.</p><p>
  <em>Well this place is true, you needn’t fret.</em>
</p><p>The fires ate away at the page, eating the lines and leaving room for only one more. The ink glowed blindingly bright, and another verse was written down.</p><p>
  <em>But it wasn’t meant to be, forever my unfinished symphony.</em>
</p><p>Those last words created a spark, and the entire book exploded into a blue blaze. The flames slowly shaped a figure, sculpting a man out of nothing but embers as he opened his eyes, body still a mass dysfunction of formless limbs and shapeless organs.</p><p>Laughter boomed in the small room, echoing in the walls and resonating in the ghost’s ears. Nobody heard him, as raucous cheers erupted outside for the long-awaited capture of a war criminal.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Down in a bunker, the everlasting silence was shattered by the sound of stone cracking and enchantments failing. Sparks and magic coursed through the runestones as cracks started to form, the very core of the enchantments beginning to fall. The man grunted, trembling as his veins emerged from his arms, hands clenching the armrest with all the force he could muster.</p><p><em>CRACK</em>.</p><p>The shackle on his right hand fell to pieces, littering the ground and his lap in debris. The runestones sizzled and smoked like charcoal, broken and useless. Shaking his arm to enjoy his newfound freedom, he worked in freeing his left. With a hiss, he grabbed the sides of the cuff, body shaking as the foundation of the restraints began to crackle and break. The cuff broke free from the wooden chair, shattering to a hundred pieces as soon as it hit the ground. Splinters dusted his clothes, but he ignored them and went for his bound ankles.</p><p>
  <em>CRACK. CRACK.</em>
</p><p>With both arms free, he was successful in removing them without any complications. The dying hum of the enchantments faded in the back, as if singing a tragedy for his freedom.</p><p>Footsteps stormed above the bunker just as the man stretched his arms. The hatch opened, sound metal slamming into obsidian. A figure slid down to the bunker, a ghostly figure hovering after him.</p><p>The newcomer paled as soon as he took in the mess. The ghost gasped, fading out of view. At the same time, the man collapsed, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Around him, the shattered runestones vibrated, moving to a centerpiece as they molded and formed another human being.</p><p>Skeppy, now back in his own body, groaned as he lifted himself off the floor. The horns on his head crumpled to dust, caking his shoulders and hood. He looked up, eyes squinting at the forming human across him.</p><p>The stones fell into place and changed their shapes to fit the shape of a man. Someone all too familiar for them. The last rune clicked into its slot, and the revived man opened his eyes in consecutive blinks.</p><p>Schlatt burst into a fit of laughter, cackling as he relished Fundy’s horrified expression.</p><p>“Don’t you miss me, Fundy?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ant fiddled with his fingers, finding himself staring face-to-face with a calloused surface of a red shell. He’d been here for the last few hours, but it was only now that it started showing signs of life, or a mere reaction. A human-sized light began to appear at the center, shining through the thick shell and forming a human body, like a child maturing in a womb.</p><p>His tail stood up tense, hairs sticking out and standing on their ends.</p><p>This was the moment he was waiting for. For months—<em>years</em>, even—all for this one result.</p><p>Within the red, nestled in the embrace of crimson vines, a crack formed on the surface of the massive egg.</p><p>It was quiet, but to Ant, it felt like the volume of a hundred jet engines.</p><p>Another crack. It spread from the original, making its way from the tip and to the bottom. One crack, and another, and another, until the egg was shaking with a vengeance, like the entity inside was fighting to escape its walls.</p><p>The cracks were spread all across the egg now, and it would all fall apart with one touch.</p><p>With a shaky arm, Ant raised his hand, his palm touching the shell briefly, and the entire egg fell apart like rain. At where the egg used to stand, another man replaced the egg’s steed, his eyes closed and kept to the floor.</p><p>Ant retracted his hand, shocked. His lips quivered, but he couldn’t find the words. It died as soon as he opened his mouth, his tongue shriveling into ash. His mind turned blank, body trembling as if he were in winter.</p><p>The man opened his eyes, widening slightly. He looked at his hands and the back of them, inspecting each inch of his flesh as if this were all a dream. He then looked around, lips pursing into a thin line as he realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.</p><p>Then, his gaze fell on Ant, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.</p><p>“Who are you?” Velvet asked.</p><p>Ant froze in his place.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Arc II: Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Techno’s seen better days than this.</p><p>He’d woken to rotting jailcells before, where the guards had kicked at his cell to taunt him and throw his food on the muddy floor. He’d woken to an empty healer’s room, where the healer himself came in and told him that his friends had abandoned him in order to save their own lives and gold, that he was nothing more than dead weight to them.</p><p>All of which were better options than what he was about to face.</p><p>He was about to be executed by the country that killed two of his brothers.</p><p>During the revolution, Techno remembered telling Tommy and Tubbo that history was merely repeating itself. Tubbo stepping up as president after Schlatt’s death was another link in the world’s worst chain. Wilbur died then.</p><p>And even after Tubbo was president, Tommy was driven to suicide. History keeps repeating itself, with each new cycle presenting more horrendous results than the last.</p><p>Now, Techno was about to follow in his footsteps.</p><p>“You’ve taken half my family,” he’d hissed to Tubbo when the Butcher Army showed up at his house.</p><p>Tubbo glared back at him, the intensity in those once-innocent eyes authentic and fierce. Perhaps not as firm as Techno’s or Tommy’s or even Wilbur’s, but the hatred in them mirrored the fury their family held proud in their blood.</p><p>“And you’ve destroyed my home,” Tubbo growled.</p><p>Then he was taken away, his armor and weapons stripped from him, and body bound with chains that were otherwise far too heavy for anyone normal to handle. From the long journey across the Tundra and into the nether, his shoulders burned from the weight of the chains wrapped around his arms, which were firmly tied behind his back. Every little movement, every step would cause the chains to rattle, reminding him painfully of his current helplessness.</p><p>Phil wasn’t here to save him. For months, he was still out looking for Tommy, and he’s yet to return. He was the only one accepting of Techno, other than Ghostbur. But Ghostbur’s friends with everybody, and he was also gone for at least a month. </p><p> Ghost Tommy was unceremoniously afraid of him. His own brother fears him even after death. It’s a punishment, he supposes. A curse. Not only to the child himself, but also to Techno. <em>Look at you. Your own brother is afraid of what you’ve become</em>. He was a monster not only in his enemies’ eyes, but also to his own family.</p><p>He sacrificed many things to get the power he possessed today. He sacrificed his family. He sacrificed his sanity. He sacrificed the person he used to be—all to get the strength he needed to protect himself, and hopefully the people he cared for.</p><p>Instead, the people he wanted to protect ended up on the wrong side of his sword, and they died to a <em>government</em>. The government they themselves helped create. The sheer irony was almost painfully hilarious – as if they had set themselves to fall into a trap from the very beginning.</p><p>Wilbur promised Techno that he’ll make a fair government. Where everybody would live in peace and he could change Techno’s mind. If he can make a force of power that does not corrupt, then he could prove his older brother wrong for once in his life. But he hadn’t. Instead, both his brothers were driven insane by the very thing they started.</p><p>Techno clenched his teeth as he glared down to the dark oak planks beneath him. <em>He never should have let them leave the house that night</em>.</p><p>“Hey, hey, Techno, you see that thing on the stage there?” Quackity prodded, pointing to the topless cage at the center of the podium. <em>A show. They’re making his execution a public display</em>. “It’s the same place where you betrayed Tommy.” <em>The same place where you drove your family apart</em>. “You know what, Techno? It’s kind of funny. You’re going to pay for your sins in the exact same place you’ve made them.”</p><p>The Voices grew louder. They were usually unnoticeable, but it was now that they started to pound at his senses, to start yearning for blood. They told him to strangle the man where he stood, to grab his axe and slaughter the onlooking crowd. But as soon as his eyes fell onto the horse by Tubbo, the voices receded, and was replaced by one single voice. The strongest of them all, the voice that’s accompanied him for the longest time.</p><p>Fossilnet.</p><p><em>Save Carl, Techno. Your most faithful friend</em>, said the leader of the Voices. <em>If he dies, we can no longer grant you our power. You must prove yourself worthy of the gifts with lavish you. </em></p><p>Techno scowled to himself. He needed to escape. Carl doesn’t deserve this fate; and Techno shouldn’t have brought him into this entire mess.</p><p>“I will, Chat.”</p><p>Their Voices turned relieved as they faded to nothingness.</p><p>Behind him, a hand tried to shove him forward, but they were proven unsuccessful as Techno didn’t budge a single inch. Techno turned, expression a menacing glare, causing Quackity to nearly wet his pants.</p><p>“Get in the cage, Technoblade,” Tubbo commanded, voice firm. “Or the horse gets it.” He held a sword to Carl’s neck, and the equestrian bucked and neighed, trying to tell Techno that he wasn’t worth his life; that Techno should run instead of saving his life.</p><p>Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo. It was messed up. Tubbo was Tommy’s best friend, and yet he didn’t hesitate to throw his brother under the bus for the sake of their so-called peace. Tubbo was raised in a world of war and blood, partially trained by Schlatt to be the perfect soldier to fight for his government. He was brought up without knowing how to bring peace <em>without</em> war, and Techno sympathized with him.</p><p>But this wasn’t the time to feel any kindness towards his executioners.</p><p>“Don’t you <em>dare</em> hurt Carl,” Techno snapped, walking onto the podium of his own volitation.</p><p>“I won’t hurt him as long as you comply.”</p><p>Quackity locked the cage behind him, and he was left alone on execution ground.</p><p><em>Think</em>, his mind raced. How would he escape with so many people wary of him, waiting for his next move? Any wrong step would result in his death, and he’s yet to know how he will die. Suffocation? Drowning? Poison? A sword through his head? He’s witnessed many executions and been nearly executed himself various times, but this was the first time where he was truly powerless and alone.</p><p>He wasn’t strong just because of his skills. It was because he had his family to back him up. But Tommy and Wilbur were forever gone, and Philza was in a land far, far away. There were little people he would consider his allies, but he hadn’t heard of them in months. Skeppy, Dream and Bad weren’t spotted for weeks. Even if they knew about his predicament, there was nothing they could do. Perhaps Dream could easily defeat them; and Skeppy and Bad were a formidable force if put together. But they were missing, not one peep heard from them.</p><p>He was <em>alone</em>.</p><p>“Don’t I get a trial?” Techno grunted, leaning on the cage to relieve some stress on his limbs. “All of this seems like biased judgement to me.”</p><p>“Criminal scum like you don’t deserve one,” Quackity spat.</p><p>“Sounds just like what a government would say.”</p><p> Quackity grit his teeth, opting to retaliate, but Tubbo raised a hand to stop him. Tubbo left Carl’s side, and stood directly in front of Techno below the podium, eyes boring into his skull with all the hate he could muster.</p><p>“Technoblade,” he started, his fists clenched by his side. “Do you plead guilty?”</p><p>Techno met the teen’s gaze. They’ve been here once before. When Techno brought those withers to life as he stared his own brother down. Only this time he was in chains, and in place of his brother was his brother’s own best friend.</p><p>“I plead guilty,” Techno said.</p><p>Tubbo’s eyes widened, as if surprised. “You—”</p><p>“Of attempting to be rid of a <em>corrupt</em> government,” Techno continued. “Open your eyes, Tubbo. I’ve said this once, and I’ll say it again. History has repeated itself not once, but twice now. Do you really think ending my life would solve your problems? Do you think by ridding yourselves of me, that all your troubles will miraculously vanish from your godforsaken country? No, Tubbo. That’s not how this works. That’s not how <em>life</em> works. As long as there is a government, there will be an unbalance of power. You want to know what happens when one person has too much power? Do you?”</p><p>The blood god stared the teen down. “They lose themselves.” He stood tall despite facing the threat of death. Anger seeped into his voice with every word he spat. His voice began to shake with fury. “Tubbo, do me a favor and look in the mirror. Are you proud of the person you’ve become? The person that drove my brother—<em>your best friend</em>—to end his own life? Are you proud? Are you proud that you killed my brother?”</p><p>He was dangerously close to the cage’s bars, like he could break free of his iron chains with another breath. The guards beneath all tensed, reaching for their weapons as they were eager to jump to their protect president’s. Like a wild beast, he growled at his captors, magenta eyes seething to quench his thirst for blood.</p><p>They’ve awoken the dormant Blood God.</p><p>“If you so much as touch that cage, I’ll kill your horse and turn it to stew!” Quackity shrieked.</p><p>“What makes you think I’ll give you the <em>chance</em>?”</p><p>It was an empty threat. No matter how strong he is, no matter how much destruction he’s capable of, he can’t escape these heavy chains nor be fast enough to save Carl. His words may be without meaning, but the intent behind them was very real. Quackity flinched away at his tone, clearly still harboring fear for the Blood God. They’ve fought before, and Quackity hadn’t recovered since.</p><p>It was almost impressive. Quackity’s still found the courage to kidnap Techno from his own home despite his trauma.</p><p><em>Almost</em>.</p><p>Everything was an almost. Philza <em>almost</em> saved Wilbur. Techno <em>almost</em> managed to get his youngest brother back from the government. Wilbur <em>almost</em> made the perfect government.</p><p>It was just never meant to be.</p><p>“Enough is enough, Technoblade!” Tubbo screamed, putting his hand on the lever attached to the podium’s stands. “You will pay for your crimes in blood!”</p><p><em>He’s struck a nerve</em>. Tubbo’s lost his composure.</p><p>“Any last words?”</p><p>Techno’s eyes followed the redstone contraption to the skies. It was a series of torches and pistons, looking fairly simple and hastily put together, but the true star of the show was the piston at the very top. In the night sky, moonlight bounced off the surface of hammered metal.</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>Techno turned back to the president with steel in his expression. He did not back down even in the face of certain death.</p><p>“I do; as a matter of fact,” Techno hissed.</p><p>Tubbo nodded, the lever halfway pulled. “Let’s hear it.” The anvil was dangling by an edge, ready to fall.</p><p>Techno leaned forward and looked the teen in his eyes, fury etched into his very being.</p><p>“See you in <em>Hell</em>.”</p><p>Tubbo pulled the lever and the anvil fell from its place.</p><p>However, all hell broke loose as a sea of blue flames flooded the very place where the people of L’Manburg stood. Screams erupted from all sides as they scrambled to raise shields and find cover, which were all proven unsuccessful as they were knocked back and to the floors, clothes and skin burning.</p><p>The anvil landed on the ground beside Techno, barely missing the cage by mere inches. Techno stared at the anvil, the panic suddenly surreal.</p><p>He turned to the slightest bit of movement, the only person who stood tall amongst it all. The one who caused the chaos and the one who saved his life.</p><p>The man turned to him, smiling. He was holding a flint and steel in his hands, with the ash of several fire charges staining his yellow sweater. Techno’s mind went blank.</p><p>“Hello, my dearest brother!” Wilbur exclaimed with a real face and voice. “I see you’ve got yourself into a bit of a pickle!” He brushed soot off his sweater, picking at the fabric with a click of his tongue. “Honestly, Tech, what will you ever do without me?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Schlatt,” Fundy spat with all the distaste in the world.</p><p>“Fundy,” Schlatt returned with amusement.</p><p>“Skeppy,” Skeppy blurted. The two turned to the tanned male, who shrugged as he tried to get to his feet. “I thought we’re exchanging names. Which would be <em>great</em>—” He shot a glower at the ram hybrid. “If you didn’t suddenly possess me out of nowhere. At least take me out to dinner first.”</p><p>Schlatt snapped his fingers, like he abruptly realized something that he was pondering over for ages. “You remind me of flatty patty! I was wondering why you seemed so familiar.”</p><p>“Who—”</p><p>“Quackity,” Fundy interrupted, sending Skeppy a concerned glance. The man was still weak, as his body was recovering from the weeks of imprisonment he didn’t deserve. “He’s talking about Quackity.”</p><p>“Hey!” Skeppy whipped to the former president, appalled. “I’m not flat! Don’t lump me in the same category with <em>him</em>.”</p><p>Fundy groaned as he tried to get a grip on his sword. Schlatt was doubling over with laughter. Delusional or not, Fundy wondered how Bad could get this man to stay in line during wars. Maybe that’s why the Badlands didn’t participate in war much. It’s because Skeppy would ruin everything by cracking jokes at the most inappropriate time.</p><p><em>Bad</em>, Fundy swallowed. He tried not to think about the demon. The sight earlier was beyond horrific—with red tendrils worming away at his dark flesh and curling around his arms under his skin—Fundy’s never seen anything like that. He didn’t even know what it <em>was</em>.</p><p>“Well,” Schlatt said, brushing dust from his suit. “I’d best be on my way. If you think of killing me, I still have Dream on my side, you know.”</p><p>Fundy’s eyes widened with shock. He only now remembered that Schlatt died before the majority of recent events happened. He doesn’t know that Dream was in self-exile, nor that Tommy was dead. There were so many things that Schlatt didn’t know – he was a spirit pulled from his time without a briefing of the world’s happenings.</p><p>“I don’t have time for this,” Skeppy snapped, suddenly turning serious. His gaze flicked to Fundy in urgency. “I—I need to go to Bad.” His voice cracked. “He needs me—” He left before he said anything else.</p><p>Fundy watched him scramble up the ladder as fast as he can. What was that shift in his mood? One second he was joking away with their enemy, and the next he’s more emotional than Fundy’s ever seen him be. If Skeppy wanted to speedrun the five stages of grief, Fundy’s not going to stop him, but it better not be now.</p><p>Fundy’s grip on his sword tightened, approaching Schlatt with caution.</p><p>“I don’t know why or how you’re back,” Fundy snarled, pointing a blade of netherite towards him. Schlatt, unarmed, took steps back as he was backed up against obsidian. “But I won’t let you destroy L’manburg like how you did before. Not again.”</p><p> Schlatt merely grinned at him. Fundy growled as he pressed the sword to his throat, drawing blood from his skin.</p><p>They were interrupted by a scream.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>If Fundy was unnerved by the vines before, the feeling was amplified by a thousand now. Alarmed, Fundy turned to the bunker’s exit, where Skeppy had bolted out of earlier.</p><p>“You should go check that out,” Schlatt snipped.</p><p>Fundy glared at him. “You’re coming with me.” He pushed Schlatt forward and pressed the tip of his blade into his back.  The fabric sizzled as the fire enchantment began to activate. Fundy sighed. “You know the drill, Schlatt, and we don’t have time for a reintroduction. I’ll go up first and you follow. That, or you can stay down here and die of starvation or thirst. Whichever comes first.”</p><p>That prompted the first negative reaction from Schlatt. His smile dropped, his face tightening as Fundy kept his gaze on him, <em>daring</em> him to lash out at him. Fundy was armed, Schlatt was not. Their roles were reversed. Fundy’s come a long way and he was a completely different person. He wasn’t scared of Schlatt, and he would not back down.</p><p>Fundy was tired of cowering and running.</p><p>He climbed up the ladder, noting that the hatch was still open. If Schlatt played his cards right, he could easily shove Fundy over and make a break for L’Manburg. Fundy was still a lightweight – average at best. Schlatt was larger in size and he had the advantage in pure strength.</p><p>Fundy did not think about it. There was no room for hesitation or second thoughts.</p><p>“Skeppy?” he called, but received no response. Wary, he reached the top, and peeked out of the hatch.</p><p>He was greeted with a mass of pulsing red vines, overwhelming the mansion. The quartz walls and netherwood floors were overrun, without a trace of white or magenta left uncovered.</p><p>Amongst those vines was a blue figure, but his feet was kicking air, the same red vines curled around his neck and slowly reaching down to his body.</p><p>And <em>in</em> those vines was another man, clad in black. The red in his clothes was bleached to an ugly white.</p><p>For the second time that day, Fundy <em>screamed</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Arc II: Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Philza didn’t remember falling.</p><p>He certainly didn’t remember being carried to solid ground by a blond angel, whose wings were twice the angel’s size. His mind was foggy, like he was trying to clear the bog with his bare hands. At first, he wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him or not.</p><p>Did he die? Why else would there be an angel carrying him? They weren’t going to heaven, were they? Heaven was upwards, and they were going down.</p><p>He’s going to bloody <em>hell</em>. Maybe it’s for all the horrible things he’s done when he was alive. He was a terrible father, despite having three talented sons. They’ve grown up without him and made a life outside of their father, and rightfully so. He’d been so caught up with his own problems that he failed to notice his own sons drifting away from him.</p><p>
  <em>What are you doing here, dad?</em>
</p><p>He recalled that exact moment where his world crumpled apart. Dried blood. Maggots. Spiritual hums. He remembered that day as clear as crystal.</p><p>Tommy didn’t call him Philza. He called him <em>dad</em>.</p><p>If this was really his final moments—if he was really going to pay for his sins for eternity… the only thing Philza wanted was his sons’ forgiveness. He didn’t deserve them, and they deserved better. They deserved someone who would take care of them and let them act their age in schools and clubs. Not wars and anarchy.</p><p>They reached the ground. Philza could tell from the angel folding his wings, albeit awkwardly. This was it. His life was coming to an end. He exhaled, prepping for the release of death and hell calling out to his soul.</p><p>Instead, the angel gently propped him on the floor, waving his hand in front of his face.</p><p>“Philza?” An appallingly familiar voice rasped.</p><p>Philza’s eyes snapped open. He was almost ready to fight Satan himself. The skies were bright blue, without a sign of the storm from before. A dark figure hovered by him, casting a shadow onto his own face. They both smelled of smoke and ozone.</p><p>“Tommy?” he croaked, throat dry and tense. Oh god, why the heck was Tommy in hell with him?</p><p>Did Tommy make the damned request to escort him into hell?</p><p>“Thank god,” Tommy muttered. “I almost thought you’re dead…” <em>Touché</em>.</p><p>Bile rose up Philza’s throat. He squinted at Tommy’s face, mind racing as he realized that his skin was very, very real. The blue in his eyes weren’t glassy, but they were unbearably dull, like all the light’s been leeched from them. Like an unhealable scar, a permanent reminder of what he lost.</p><p>“You—you have <em>wings</em>,” he choked.</p><p>“You got struck by lightning and that’s what you’re concerned about?” Tommy smiled bleakly, looking more tired than Philza’s ever seen him be. “I thought you were the rational one.”</p><p>Philza groaned. His ears wouldn’t pop. His head throbbed like gongs in a Chinese temple. Tommy has wings. He has <em>wings</em>—just like him. After Tommy reached 12 years of age without wings, Philza assumed that he’d inherited his mother’s genes instead of his. But that didn’t explain anything, either. Philza found Tommy’s corpse, and he sure as hell didn’t have any feathers. Where did he get them now?</p><p>“Can you stand? Or walk?” Tommy asked, prodding his sides. Was it just Philza, or was Tommy a tad bit nervous? “It’s best if you can. I can’t carry you back, but I can always call for Dream’s help – if he comes by today, that is. No one else comes by.”</p><p> “Why—” Philza choked on his own dry throat, attempting to sit up. “Why do you need his help?”</p><p>Tommy propped him up with his hand behind his back. “Your house is in L’Manburg, isn’t it?” he asked, but it was a reminder rather than a question. “I’m still exiled… so I can’t exactly waltz in with you in tow. They’d kill me on the spot.”</p><p>Philza’s eyes widened. “Exile?” he blurted, louder than he intended it to be. Tommy grimaced and flinched away. “You fucking died, Tommy! What do you mean you’re exiled? They can’t exile a bloody ghost!”</p><p>Tommy stared at him as if he were the crazy one. No. The ghost who was struck by lightning and gained wings for some reason wasn’t the weird one in the family. The adult who survived in the seas and on fish for months looking for said ghost was. They’ve always had a weird bloodline, but this was out of proportion.</p><p>“I didn’t die, though?” Even Tommy was perplexed. You’d think he’d at least remember his own death. He was soft-spoken—<em>far</em> too soft and fragile, even for GhostInnit. “Philza, I think you’re on drugs, or <em>something</em>.”</p><p>“You—” Philza’s jaw wired shut. What was he supposed to tell him? <em>You stabbed yourself with a sword and your body was left out to rot? Tubbo’s beating himself up because your ghost didn’t want to see him? The ghosts have all passed on except for you?</em></p><p>“I need to get back before Dream knows I’m not in Logstedshire,” Tommy insisted.</p><p>Philza clasped onto Tommy’s shoulders, spinning the teen to face him. Tommy’s feathers perked up in shock, like a cat hissing at a vacuum cleaner. “There <em>is</em> no Logsta—<em>Logstedsu—</em>however you pronounce it! Tommy, you’re coming with me back to L’Manburg. Fuck Dream, fuck the authorities, and most important of all, <em>fuck </em>the government. If anyone tries to take you away from me again they’re going home without arms. You hear me?”</p><p><em>He’s warm</em>. Philza can hold Tommy like a living, breathing human being. His skin wasn’t cold and his flesh wasn’t translucent. That godforsaken music no longer followed him like an irritating theme song. He’s alive. Tommy’s alive. Tommy has a second chance, and so does Philza. Maybe he can be the father that his son deserved.</p><p>Stiff and skeptical, Tommy nodded, but his eyes darted around them as if he were still distrustful of Philza. Philza heaved a sigh of relief, releasing his hold on the teen and checked their surroundings. He’d been so caught up with his son that he didn’t even think to see where they landed. Thankfully, a blackstone mountain and a portal served as a landmark, allowing him to pinpoint his exact location within seconds.</p><p>“It’s the Dream SMP,” Tommy wisped, voice cracking as he stared at the familiar structures. “I’m… I’m really here.”</p><p>Philza nodded, grinning. He reached out to ruffle Tommy’s hair, but froze just before he could touch his head. <em>I need to earn his trust</em>, he thought, taking his hand back.</p><p>“It’s changed a lot since I last came here,” Philza agreed, squinting at the influx of new buildings. “I didn’t count how long I was gone for, but geez! Looks like people have been busy.”</p><p>“I—” Tommy choked on his own sobs. “I’m <em>home</em>.”</p><p>Philza pat his shoulder, because he didn’t know what else he could do. He didn’t want to force physical comfort on the teen if he was uncomfortable with it. Maybe in the future, he could mess up his hair, teach him how to preen his feathers, or even give a hu—</p><p>Tommy wrapped his hands around Philza, burying his head into his chest. Surprised, Philza tensed in place, eyes looking down like a robot as the teen sought comfort from him. His own father. His own son was hugging him.</p><p>Philza sighed, but it was out of relief. With a grateful smile growing on his face, he returned the gesture, wrapping his wings around the teen like a protective blanket, while rubbing soothing circles on his lower back. “There, there, kiddo,” he hummed, holding him closer as his body trembled. “I’m here, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”</p><p>He felt his son nod into his chest, his response muffled and mixed with tears and croaks. Philza’s body still hurt like shit; being struck by lightning was no joke. He needed to be here for Tommy right now. He could put his own pains aside.</p><p>“Come on.” Philza’s voice was gentle, like he was walking on eggshells. “Let’s go to L’Manburg. I’m sure they’ll scare themselves shitless.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Techno, I am shitting in my pants right now like I’ve eaten three bowls of Quackity’s ghost pepper chili. Tell me what the fuck happened and where we are before I start setting things on fire again.”</p><p>From the cage, Techno stared at the brunet, swearing that his eyes were fine earlier.</p><p>“Ghostbur?” he demanded. This couldn’t be the ghost of his dead brother. For starters, Ghostbur’s gone, and for good. Heck, he’s been gone for months, and there wasn’t even any sign of him since then. Secondly, Ghostbur didn’t curse, nor find arson to be a quaint habit. This man looked… too <em>real</em> to be a ghost, but too alike to not be his brother.</p><p>‘Ghostbur’ frowned at him. The flint and steel in his hand broke apart after all its uses. “Techno, did you hit your head somewhere?” he snipped. “Do you want to tell me what’s happening? Where the fuck am I? Why did I walk into your execution? I know you like pissing off the governments, Techie, but really, you need subtler approaches.”</p><p>Dead silence roamed the execution grounds, which surprised Techno. From the short time he spent with them, he was certain they would be screaming their lungs out and pointing fingers at the undead. Thank the gods they didn’t. Techno could do with a few less voices.</p><p>“Wilbur,” Techno realized. “You’re <em>alive</em>?”</p><p>Wilbur groaned. He was wearing the coat he wore during his exile, but it was new, clean and pristine as if it were freshly tailored. The burns and tears were absent, unlike the one that Techno had seen him wear so long ago. It was like the day he was exiled from his own home. It took him back to the day outside the secret entrance, where he was only clad in iron armor and Wilbur in nothing.</p><p>“Of course I’m alive, but I’ve lost my things. I could’ve sworn I had a diamond sword on me, maybe some potatoes or two. God fuck me if I lose that sword for good. They’re all gone, and I’m in this—this <em>place</em>? Wait, is this still the Dream SMP?”</p><p><em>Definitely Wilbur</em>. Techno’s known his brother long enough to recognize his mannerisms. “Yes, Wilbur, this is still the Dream SMP.”</p><p> The frown in Wilbur’s expression deepened, like he was highly doubtful of his own brother’s claim. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the area like a hawk, but no recognition was reflected on his own face. The new L’Manburg wasn’t the same to him. Eventually, his gaze landed on the ensemble, all frozen in shock. Wilbur’s nose scrunched up at the sight.  </p><p>“Are you sure?” he asked. “In which parts? I’ve never been here before. Is this El Rapids?”</p><p>“Wilbur, buddy, you’re not in El Rapids.” Techno grunted. His spine was burning from the weight of the chains. “You’re in L’Manburg.” He looked towards the flag hanging by the center of the country. Wilbur followed his gaze, growing more confused than ever.</p><p>Wilbur took steps back. <em>“What?”</em> His eyes were glued onto the flag, unable to look away. With widened eyes, he looked on, horror and disorientation settling in by the moment. Panic flared in his gaze, looking for a shred of reason as he whipped towards the group of bloody executioners then to his imprisoned brother, but found none. “HOW?” he screamed, more horrified than anything. “L’Manburg’s not here anymore. It—it should be blown up! I saw it happen with my own two eyes. There were Withers; fucking <em>withers</em>!”</p><p>“A lot happened since you died,” Techno said. “Can you get these off me by any chance? We’ll talk later—once we get to safety.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was at this time Tubbo decided to snap out of his stupor. He was silent from the start to finish, but it seems that he finally found his voice. The teen stepped forward, raising a netherite axe and finally speaking up.</p><p>“No one’s going anywhere!” he commanded, catching Wilbur’s attention. “No one leaves until we figure out what’s happening.”</p><p>Wilbur’s mind drew blanks. He knew that voice. He <em>recognized </em>it. Out of all the foreign things around him, Techno, L’Manburg’s flag, and this voice was the only thing he could recall. Only the voice has grown up, and the person behind it had changed along with it.</p><p>He stared at the teen, a strange feeling blossoming in his chest. Like everything else, he couldn’t recognize it either. It was so alien, so far from his understanding. His mind may not remember, but his body certainly does. His muscle memory extended to his voice, where he unknowingly said, “Tubbo?”</p><p><em>Tubbo? </em>He was most definitely <em>not</em> Tubbo. He didn’t talk like him, walk like him, or even look like him. The teen that stood before him was nothing remotely like the secretary he knew. Tubbo wasn’t crude—he was sweet and kind to all. The poor imitation wasn’t even worth a fraction of his time.</p><p>Fake Tubbo pursed his lip, but he still held steady. Somewhere, in the back of those cold blue eyes, Wilbur saw a bit of hesitation flashing in them, but they were so far away, like the boy he knew was long gone.</p><p>No. That’s not Tubbo.</p><p>From far away, screams pierced through the tense air like knives tearing through silk. Everyone whipped their attention towards the guttural cry, another call for help. It appeared as if they weren’t the only ones confused by the sudden undead reanimation.</p><p>“If—” Fake Tubbo muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “If Wilbur’s alive…” His eyes widened. The netherite axe in his hand dropped to the wooden floorboards in loud thumps. “That means Tommy is—”</p><p>By him, Fake Quackity cursed under his breath. “And Schlatt, that motherfucker.”</p><p>Schlatt. From the little information Wilbur could piece together, they thought he’d died, along with Tommy and Schlatt. Did he hit his head somewhere and wake up in an alternate timeline? It was the only explanation. He didn’t die, and neither did Tommy. His brother was still waiting back in Pogtopia, waiting for him to come back from his hunt—</p><p>Then why was Techno here?</p><p>Wilbur’s head began to ache. He pushed his thoughts down before they could overwhelm him. Hopefully they won’t bother him much like how Chat would torment Techno.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Velvet, Velvet,” Ant called, distraught as he tried to keep up with the redhead. His tail tensed up, ears shaking in high alert. “Where are you going?”</p><p>Red didn’t turn; instead making his way towards the exit of the statue room. It unnerved Ant – to see his beloved act so… <em>unlike him</em>. He knew the resurrection had side-effects, and he was willing to pay the price. He just didn’t know how expensive it was, or what’d happened to both of them.</p><p>Red continued walking, and Ant was far behind him. Through the brief dark tunnel, Ant could’ve sworn that he saw a red glow emitting from Red’s body. <em>Strange</em>.</p><p>“Velvet!” Ant cried, reaching a hand out to his boyfriend, only for him to exit the spider spawner by the water tube. He missed him by only mere seconds. Appalled, he followed his steps with renewed vigor, worry and frustration meddling with his thoughts.</p><p>He was spat out of the water elevator within seconds. Dripping wet, he shot his head around like a startled chicken to look for a familiar mop of red hair. His sharp eyes picked up a spot of red in a sea of wheat, and he made a mad dash towards the man.</p><p>(He failed to notice the crimson footprints that Red left, red bleeding into grass after he walked by.)</p><p>Fortunately for him, Red wasn’t running, or even attempting to get away from Ant. It just seemed as if he were desperate to escape the underground. Ant caught up within moments, and he took Red’s hand into his own. “Vel—” He froze.</p><p>Only Red’s palm wasn’t warm, nor did it feel like flesh. It was ice cold, with tendrils pulsing in his skin like heartbeats. Ant felt as if he were holding a rough vine, not a human. Confused and scared, even more so when Red turned to him, his neck stiff like metal, his movements robotic and poorly rehearsed.</p><p>Red was covered in red veins from head-to-toe, vines pulsating within his skin like worms. A gold flower blossomed on his shoulder, glowing faint golden, but its petals were dripping with blood. His sclera in his eyes were pitch black, and his pupil bright red like a demon’s. He opened his mouth, opting to speak, revealing unbearably sharp teeth.</p><p><em>“I </em><em>∷</em><em>ᒷᑑ</em><em>⚍╎</em><em>∷</em><em>ᒷ</em> <em>リ</em><em>𝙹</em><em>⚍</em><em>∷</em><em>╎</em><em>ᓭ</em><em>⍑</em><em>ᒲᒷ</em><em>リ</em><em>ℸ</em><em> ̣.”</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Somewhere, in a mansion made of quartz, the Crimson servant froze in place, the vines under his command halting, only an inch away from tearing into the fox hybrid’s face. Feeling the call of his master, he turned towards the humans, and a torrent of vines swallowed them whole.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Arc II: Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Skeppy wished his reunion with Bad happened under better circumstances. After months of wandering as a ghost, he was ecstatic to have his body back, even if it were malnourished and beat up, no thanks to Schlatt. It was supposed to be a momentous occasion, where the first thing he would do was jump on Bad and tease him for missing him, but he can’t do that because 1) Bad’s gone mental, and 2) he was taken captive by Bad.</p><p>For months, he’d dread the vines’ presence, as they grew around their mansion as if they were looking for living beings to leech off of. He would stay by Bad’s side—even if he couldn’t see him—and pray the best for his best friend, and his worry stockpiled as the demon didn’t notice the strange growth, or he didn’t care. Not many people passed by their home, so there wasn’t much concern.</p><p>It wasn’t until Bad disappeared for two weeks did Skeppy start to worry. He wandered the server, phasing through walls and oceans in search of his friend. When Sam showed up at their doorstep with an exhausted Bad in tow, Skeppy stayed by his side for days until Fundy arrived. Fundy was the first to see him and reveal the truth about Bad’s coma, and alarms rang in Skeppy’s head. The vines he’d been seeing for so long had taken root in his best friend’s body.</p><p>He’d wanted to hold Bad’s hand and tell him he was going to be okay. <em>They </em>were going to be okay. He wanted to shake Bad awake just to confirm that he was still alive, that he still had a chance to laugh and live again. When Fundy backed away, hands covering his mouth shaking, Skeppy’s heart turned to stone.</p><p>Too many things were happening at once and there weren’t enough solutions. There never was, and Skeppy was afraid that he’ll never get one.</p><p> </p><p>Skeppy pounded and kicked on the pod’s hardened membrane. Limbs still tender and weak, he winced as every punch resounded in his skeleton like gongs. The amber window was far too sturdy for him to break from the inside, even with all his determination and might.</p><p>By him were two pods that were similar to his own, all three entangled in a mess of vines, lying horizontal as they were transported like a mob wave. He couldn’t look to his sides, but he could hear Fundy screaming and Schlatt grunting. They were equally as helpless as him, as Bad had taken all of Fundy’s tools beforehand. Their only means of escape was gone, and they could do nothing but wait for help.</p><p>If anyone saw them, that is. Judging from the buildings in his partly obscured vision, they were moving at an abnormal pace. At one second, Skeppy recognized Tommy’s house, and the next, they were outside Punz’s. The rest of his window was covered in more vines, but Skeppy could make solid assumptions from his observations. <em>Bad’s shadow travelling</em>. The demon’s magic was unbound by their laws, but it still both amazed and horrified Skeppy to know what he could do.</p><p>Bad was shadow travelling, making it difficult for anyone to notice them. To any outsider, it would just be another misplaced shadow that would fix itself soon enough. It wasn’t worth anyone’s attention, let alone a further investigation.</p><p>
  <em>Some people know about Bad’s powers. Select few. Sapnap, George, Dream… Callahan maybe. But what could they do? They know about Bad’s powers, but they don’t know that he’s not himself.</em>
</p><p>Was he really going to be stuck here until someone saves them? Would there be anybody who would come?</p><p>Skeppy’s train of thought came to a stop as the vines around their pods froze. The scenery in his little window solidified, revealing no buildings and a sunset sky. His body tensed as the vines slithered away like obedient reptiles, hissing and leaving the pods alone on the ground. They left his field of vision, and Skeppy had just enough space to raise his head upwards and support himself up with his elbows.</p><p>From his left corner, he saw familiar figures. Painfully familiar figures. He easily recognized the closest one was Bad, wearing his black and ghostly white hoodie in his demonic self. It’s been so long since he saw him embracing his darker side – Bad’s always worried about losing his humanity to his thirst for destruction. With his mind taken over, the same restrictions were too, overridden.</p><p>The vines that carried the pods here turned thin and circled around Bad’s ankles, growing upwards and around his body, tightening around his limbs and head. Skeppy held in a scream as Bad knelt before a red figure, with Ant behind him, also tied up in vines on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Ant wanted to scream, but the vines around his mouth kept him quiet. He wanted to lash out and cut the vines down, but his arms were pinned behind his back. From the spider spawner’s entrance, a flood of vines responded to Velvet’s call, surrounding them in an endless sea of red and bloody golden. The vines parted as Bad arrived from the shadows, him and three pods rising from the darkness.</p><p>Bad knelt down before the monster that was once Red Velvet, his head hanging low as he submitted without questions. His body was covered in the same red vines that Velvet commanded.</p><p>Ant didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know why Velvet became <em>this</em>. He didn’t know why Bad had become a replica of the creature Ant helped create. He didn’t know why there were people encapsulated in pods like food waiting for consumption. He didn’t <em>know</em>.</p><p>“<em>You have done well, my servant</em>,” Velvet praised, but it was so unlike him. His voice was distorted and raspy – it wasn’t the same voice that said, <em>I love you</em> when he cradled Ant in his sleep. Ant’s intestines twisted.</p><p>Bad didn’t look up, nor did he respond. The vines around his scalp drew dark red blood. It trickled down his cheek and chin like liquid jewels, which the vines soaked in, a faint glow emitting from the red surface. From where Ant was, he could see the life and color in Bad’s bright green eyes had turned dull grey. Something had happened to him. Could Red be the reason why? That couldn’t be… he was only resurrected a few moments ago.</p><p>“<em>Your blood is mot peculiar</em>.” Velvet raised a hand, miniature tendrils curling around his claw-like fingers. “<em>Do you mind if I have a taste?</em>”</p><p>Robotically, Bad rose to his feet, arms limp. He moved as if the vines were guiding his body, and he was its soulless puppet. His eyes were open but there was no cognition, half-lidded and his lips ajar. He looked at the world as if he were looking through an undecipherable dream. He was a marionette for a monster to command, his soul broken to create the perfect harlequin. Like exposed veins, the vines creeped towards his arms and towards his fingers, moving his hands to unbutton his cloak to expose his bare neck.</p><p>From Velvet’s chest, a thorned tendril sprung to life and sword forward, piercing into Bad’s neck like a harpoon. The demon didn’t react; even as blood spurted from the sides of the wound and his life sucked away by a crimson parasite, he remained indifferent to the world.</p><p>One of the pods started to violently thrash about, the person inside punching the translucent walls desperately as Bad’s demon form began to melt away like paint in rain, revealing pale skin under the obsidian blackness. As if shadows dispelling from his being, every inch of darkness dissipated, leaving the demon in his vulnerable, human self.</p><p>Bad’s body swayed, unstable as the vine retracted from his flesh, returning to Velvet’s side. It left a gaping hole in his neck; deep enough to draw all his blood, but not enough to kill him. He fell forward, eyes closing as he collapsed to the ground, a sickening <em>thud</em> echoing in everybody’s ears. Bad’s hair spilt around his head, the bruises under his eyes more profound.</p><p>A heart-wrenching, muffled scream erupted from the nearest pod, <em>“BAD!”</em></p><p>What was <em>happening</em>?</p><p>Hot, burning tears left glistening streaks on Ant’s cheeks. He could only stare as the man he once loved became the very thing that was his friend’s undoing.  </p><p>What could he do? What can Ant do to stop this? He brought Velvet back to life, he should know how to stop all of this…</p><p><em>But he didn’t</em>.</p><p>Ant’s body trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut, praying that this was all just a terrible, terrible nightmare. But the sound of the vines moving was painfully real. Creeping towards Bad’s lifeless form, it spun itself around his head, arms and legs like a soothing touch, bringing him towards the mass of vines, taking him <em>away</em>.</p><p>What should he do? What <em>can</em> he do? He struggled against his binds until his elbows were sore and his arms started to bruise. His sides grinded against the sharp, dried grass, drawing ugly scrapes on his cheeks until they bled. He couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried.</p><p>“<em>Little ones, do not fret</em>,” Velvet continued, licking his lips as if savoring the taste of blood. “<em>Be honored; for you have the privilege of sacrificing your flesh to me</em>.”</p><p> He moved towards the pod in the middle, running his sharpened fingernails on the amber membrane like claws on a chalkboard. The person inside yelped, whimpering as a claw tore through the surface with ease, almost as if it turned into thick slime with his touch.</p><p>“Please!” Fundy’s voice was thick with desperation and tears. “I’m not tasty! I don’t want to get eaten!”</p><p>Velvet silenced him by covering his mouth, his claws digging into his cheeks. Blood stained his fingernails and dirtied Fundy’s cheeks. “<em>Silence. You have no say in this matter</em>.”</p><p>Muffled whimpers spilled from the man. Ant looked away as Velvet leaned forward, baring razor-sharp canines, only to look back twice as fast when a trident’s hum echoed in his ears. He opened his eyes, misty as they were, he saw Velvet staggering back, arms raised and a vine barrier blocking him, and a bloodied trident impaled in the floor by him. Velvet’s shoulder was grazed and bleeding.</p><p>The barrier was cut open by a sword, the cut vines bursting into flames. Sam emerged through crimson and fire, with a sword in hand and a trident in another. He landed in front of Fundy’s pod, waving his sword in a wide arc to chase Velvet as far as possible.</p><p>“Back off!” Sam shrieked, face torn between confusion and grief.<em> Velvet was his friend too</em>. “You take one step closer and I’ll take your head!”</p><p>Velvet scowled. More vines grew to take the burnt ones’ place. Sam slashed through every single one of them like confetti, glowering at the monster that was the root cause. Around them, more vines released phantom screeches as they were cut off, all bursting into flames soon after. Ant stared at two of the instigators – <em>Sapnap and George</em>.</p><p>They were here! They were going to be saved! But they weren’t alone. Philza was amongst them, hacking at vines that tried to get to the pods, moving his sword with renewed vengeance every strike. With Sam, Punz stared Velvet down as they <em>dared</em> him to make another move.</p><p>Ant felt the vines tying him to the ground snap, and suddenly he was loose and free. He swiveled around in shock to see a face he didn’t expect to see, especially out of everybody here.</p><p>“Tommy?” Ant’s voice cracked.</p><p>The teen grinned at him, proud that he saved him. He whipped around and cut the vines that tried to grab onto them, moving his sword with trained precision. Despite the tense situation, Ant can’t help but notice the two new growths on the blond’s back. Have they always been there?</p><p>“What are you standing around for?” Tommy barked, pushing him into the battle. “Go save BBH!”</p><p>Ant drew his sword and looked for his demon friend. Amongst the vines, almost fully buried, was his friend, still dead still even with the fire of battle flaring around them. He stabbed into the vines, cutting them away as he tried to uncover Bad, his efforts proving effective as they loosened around his body.</p><p>
  <em>Come on, come on, come on—</em>
</p><p>The last of the vines burned into ash. After noticing his condition, Sam rushed over and scooped Bad into his arms, taking him as far away as from the source as possible, Punz, Philza and Sapnap providing him cover.</p><p>George helped the trapped people evacuate first. Fundy, Skeppy, and Schlatt—he would have plenty of questions later—were all lucid, so they had no issue with escaping on their own.</p><p>Though, after minutes of fighting the vines, it became clear that they couldn’t end the problem this instant. It seemed that by absorbing Bad’s blood, the vines have grown a new conscious, becoming more non-volatile and stronger than the last. They adapted as they regrew, proving to be a challenge even with seasoned fighters like Punz.</p><p>They were forced to retreat, but even so it presented as a hurdle itself. When they tried to back away, a wall would block their escape, forcing them to split between defending against attacks and destroying their blockage. Each wall was weaker than the last, as they’d gotten further away, but it was clear that everybody was tiring down. They ran through the SMP, through houses and paths, until they stopped counting and focused on surviving.</p><p>As they fled, Ant met Velvet’s eyes one last time; they were colder than glaciers, harsher than thunderstorms. He bit his lip and turned, forcing himself to look away as he ran.</p><p>Eventually—<em>finally</em> did they manage to escape the vines. A vine shot towards them, trying to grab hold of their bodies, but it stopped just short of a few inches. They were out of the vines’ reach—<em>thank god</em>.</p><p>Instantaneously, the group fell to their knees and collapsed, bloodied and wounded from the long battle. A high-pitched ring screamed in Ant’s head, his mind thinking <em>it was too good to be true</em>. No one was dead and they all made it out alive in one piece.</p><p>“Um,” a new voice said, causing them to look up. “Are you guys okay?”</p><p>Ant looked around and saw spruce wood and a stone crater. He then saw another group of people, who were equally shocked as they were.</p><p>“Oh!” Tommy greeted, out of breath and still exhausted from his near-death experience. “Hey Wilbur, hey Techno! Long time no see!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Arc II: Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What happened for the next few hours was a blur.</p><p>With the intruding group at a frenzy, they barked at the L’Manburg citizens to start burning all the reed vines the naked eye could see. At first, Quackity voiced his confusion and concern, but one desperate look from Sapnap was all it took for the duck-hybrid to shoot to his feet. It was rare for Sapnap to appear so distressed, the only time the emotion appearing on his face was when Dream betrayed him and George. He’d wanted to know why, but there was no time. The look on Sapnap’s face told him such.</p><p>Everybody waited for Tubbo’s command, but the teen was too, frozen in shock as his eyes landed on Tommy. He eventually gave the green light, which everyone sprung to their feet and got to their jobs. His brain couldn’t process the blond’s reappearance—Tommy was just… <em>there</em>. He was alive. He was here. He had wings. He wasn’t a ghost.</p><p><em>He smiled at Tubbo. He didn’t hate him</em>.</p><p>He whipped his head around the odd ensemble. Sapnap was visibly upset, with George comforting him and rubbing soothing circles on his back. Philza was comforting Tommy, who had his wings close to him, like a protective blanket that shielded him from the cruel reality of the outside world. Tommy looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, but he wouldn’t even know where he was if it wasn’t for the L’Manburg flags hanging around their nation.</p><p>Behind them, Tubbo recognized the entourage as the Badlanders, the members from a neutral faction who’d fought against with L’Manburg during the Schlatt revolution only to betray them soon after. Tubbo had always hated them for switching sides for the sake of power, but the situation they were in now was anything but evil. Skeppy was sobbing, cradling an unconscious man in red, black and white in his arms. His allies were close to them, but they were silent. <em>Is that Bad?</em></p><p>Tubbo had too many questions but not enough answers.</p><p>“Phil!” / “Tommy!”</p><p>Tubbo whipped his head around, only to see Techno and Wilbur charging the father-son duo and tackling them in hugs. Tommy’s face exploded into a full red as Wilbur took him into his arms, holding him close and tight. Techno berated Philza for being involved and risking his life for their enemies, but the blond laughed it off and ruffled his pink hair. Techno groaned as his braids came undone. His hair could survive a near-execution but not his own father’s fatherly love.</p><p>A flower of hollowness blossomed in Tubbo’s chest. <em>Why wasn’t there anyone who was looking for him?</em> Anyone? Anyone who would at least check up on him and asked if he was alright, if he was hurt? If so, he would say no, and tears would start flooding from his eyes as the gates have opened. But no one came to him, no one caring for him. His tears continued to bottle up right before it fell from his eyes.</p><p>If he died right here, would anyone care?</p><p>The president of L’Manburg turned from the family of four with a heavy heart. He needed to check up on his citizens, to see how they were doing and whether if they needed help. But before he could even take a step forward, a scream from Wilbur drew his attention back.</p><p>Wilbur was stabbing a finger at Sapnap and George, past their shoulders and to the two behind them. “Why the <em>fuck</em> is <em>he</em> here?”</p><p>Tubbo and Techno followed his gaze. To their surprise, they saw a familiar face—a face they fought tooth and nail to be rid of the country they now stood in. Techno’s eye twitched as Schlatt yawned in their faces.</p><p><em>“Schlatt?”</em> they chorused.</p><p>Tubbo knew Schlatt was back from book-Ghostbur’s writing. He just didn’t expect to see him so soon. Five. Five ghosts in total. He scanned his surroundings, doing a mental count of the dead-returned—Ghostbur, Tommy (he tried not to cringe when Tommy refused to meet his eyes), Schlatt—who else? Two more.</p><p>The unknown 2 still remained. They had no names to match the ghosts. If they were resurrected, they were out there and alive somewhere.</p><p>Tubbo stepped towards Tommy. “Tom—” Tubbo paused, eyes widening. Tommy had his arms raised and his wings wrapped around him the <em>moment</em> Tubbo called his name. He looked away, covering his face with his feathers and hands, like Tubbo was the last person he wanted to see. Tubbo’s mouth dried, the weight in his chest falling and pulling his spirit beneath the ground.</p><p>Tubbo turned to Wilbur instead. “Wilbur,” he started, which the man turned to him with an irritated stare. Tubbo didn’t know whether if it was directed towards him or Schlatt, but it caused Tubbo to shirk away. Tubbo clenched the hem of his suit, trying not to cry. “You—you said there were five ghosts total.” Wilbur shrugged, barely an affirmation. “Do you know who the other two are?”</p><p>Wilbur hummed, pressing his lips together whilst he swiveled towards the odd group. He pointed at the man in blue, who was now calming down, but didn’t look any less distraught.</p><p>Tubbo’s eyes widened. <em>“Skeppy?”</em> he demanded. “<em>Skeppy</em> died? He wasn’t even near any conflict!”</p><p>“I didn’t know his name, but that’s the face,” Wilbur grunted. “I’d recognize that shit-eating face anywhere.”</p><p>“Then what about the last?” Tubbo continued. “Is it someone we know?”</p><p>Wilbur scoffed and shook his head. “Didn’t know him. Never seen him once; I would’ve remembered him if I ever saw him.”</p><p>“I have.”</p><p>They turned to Tommy, who had a hand raised to get their attention. His voice was brittle and weak, and he shrunk under their collected stares, but with his father behind him muttering encouragement, he took a deep breath and explained.</p><p>“I saw him just now,” Tommy said, voice growing louder. “We were fighting him. He’s the one controlling those vines—and the one that killed Bad.”</p><p>“<em>Bad</em>’s dead?” Tubbo demanded. He whipped towards the Badlands, and his eyes widened in fear as he finally recognized the man in Skeppy’s arms. He was limp, his chest unmoving and his eyes firmly shut. He didn’t know the man, but he was <em>dead</em>—too many people that Tubbo cared about were dead. “He—that’s not—”</p><p>Another death. Another one. Too many deaths. Blood on Skeppy’s clothes. Blood on the execution grounds. Blood on—</p><p><em>Blood on his own hands</em>.</p><p>The world around him turned white. Any noise faded to a high-pitched ring. Tubbo slammed his hands to jam his ears shut, but his mind pounded on his skull like a gong.</p><p>Tubbo turned around and ran.</p><p> </p><p>Skeppy slapped Sam’s away when he tried to take Bad from him. “Don’t touch him!” he roared, voice hoarse and raw. “Get away from us!”</p><p>Sam took his hand back, massaging his reddened skin, but he didn’t back down. “Skeppy, <em>please</em>,” he tried with a tired tone. “He could wake up any second and attack us—”</p><p>“I’m not leaving him,” Skeppy snapped, holding Bad even closer to his chest. It felt wrong. So <em>wrong</em>. His skin was cold to the touch; colder than anything he’s ever felt before. Even with all the red vines crawling in his veins and the whiteness in his clothes, he was still Bad. “I failed him once, and I can’t fail him again.”</p><p>“Skeppy—”</p><p>“No! You don’t understand! I spent months as a fucking ghost watching him kill himself slowly just to save me, but I couldn’t save him when he needed help. He tried so hard to get me back, but—” He squeezed his eyes shut, his tears stinging his eyes. “I watched him die. And I didn’t know.”</p><p>His face froze over, like a cold realization was settling in like an iceberg. His body tensed, his eyes widening as he trained his gaze towards the others. As soon as his pause came, fury took over his face as fire pumped in his veins, scorching him whole. Gently, he laid Bad to the floor, but he <em>dared</em> Sam to touch him. Sam didn’t.</p><p>He shot to his feet, but he immediately doubled over, his hand flying to his face as he tried to block out the nausea. Ant caught him in time, but Skeppy shoved him aside and braved himself forward, storming towards the one man that singlehandedly caused this tragedy.</p><p>Schlatt grinned at Skeppy. “How can I he—”</p><p>A fist collided with his face, knocking him down to the ground.</p><p>“Skeppy?” Sapnap snapped, shooting to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>Skeppy panted hard, his knuckles bloody from Schlatt’s blood. He was shaking all over, like he could fall over any second. Adrenaline was the only thing that kept him going, but even that began to fade as time passed.</p><p>Sam and Ant caught him just before he fell face first to the ground. His body slumped in their hold, his breathing shallowing as he finally passed out from everything his body has been plagued with. Starvation, weakness and dehydration.</p><p>Sapnap turned to Ant for an explanation. “What was <em>that</em> about? I get that everyone hates him, but you can’t just go around punching people!”</p><p>Ant cut him off. “You don’t know?” he whispered, as if the topic was taboo. Sapnap shook his head. “Oh.” Ant pursed his lips.</p><p>“Know what?”</p><p>Sam shot Ant a stare to let him know that he should take over. Ant nodded and quieted down, letting the mechanic speak in his place.</p><p>“Schlatt had taken over Skeppy’s body for months prior to all of this,” Sam said, choosing his words carefully. Sapnap’s face blanked, but no one knew why. “Bad spent all his time trying to save him, but—”</p><p>“<em>But</em>,” Sapnap emphasized.</p><p>“Something happened,” Sam said, motioning Ant to carry Skeppy to a safe place to heal him. He brushed his hands together, casting nervous glances at the unconscious demon on the ground. “Bad disappeared for two weeks, and I found him in his statue room knocked out. I brought him back to his mansion, then all of this happened.”</p><p>“Schlatt killed him?”</p><p>“No, I don’t think so—”</p><p>“Schlatt caused all of this?”</p><p>Sam’s tongue twisted. He was a witty speaker, but he didn’t know how to handle confrontations like these. Was Schlatt responsible? Was he held accountable? Technically speaking, if Schlatt hadn’t taken over Skeppy, Bad wouldn’t be weakened so he wouldn’t be controlled. Then none of this would have happened. The vines might have taken <em>buckets</em> of his blood in those two weeks, and they still didn’t know what that was.</p><p>“Schlatt killed dad?”</p><p>Sam blinked. “What?”</p><p>Sapnap fisted Sam’s collar. “Did. He. Kill. Bad.”</p><p>“I—I don’t know. He did take over Skeppy’s body, so…”</p><p>Sapnap dropped Sam in an instant. He stormed to Schlatt, unsheathing his sword and pointing the tip to his neck while he was still on the ground. Sam froze at the sudden turn of events. What was happening <em>now</em>?</p><p>“You killed him,” Sapnap snarled, hand shaking. George finally did something for once, and lowered Sapnap’s hand, only for the taller to push him aside and return with more ferocity. “YOU KILLED HIM!”</p><p>Schlatt coughed and wiped blood off his broken nose. “Who? I don’t recall killing anyone, to be honest.”</p><p>“Sapnap!” George raised a shield, pushing Sapnap’s sword aside and blocking his strike. “Calm down! Put that damn sword away!”</p><p>Sapnap roared at his friend and slapped into him with his bodyweight. George, having not expected it and his smaller mass, tumbled over and fell on his bottom.</p><p>“CALM DOWN?” Sapnap demanded, trying to take Schlatt’s head again, only for Sam to interfere and hold him back by hooking his shoulders and pulling him backwards. His netherite sword was wrestled from his hand, falling to the wooden floorboards in clatters. “<em>CALM DOWN? </em>You’re telling me to CALM DOWN? HE KILLED MY DAD!”</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Arc II: Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The entire day was a blur to Tubbo. He could barely remember anything that’s happened, so he sat on his bed and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he counted in his mind, and organized everything in his head.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>One</em>.</p><p>Tommy’s back, and Tubbo ran like the coward he was. He didn’t know where he’d ran off to, but a pair of red and green eyes were burned into his mind. He saw trees, their barks and branches twisted like gaping mouths and grabbing hands, lording over him as he curled into a ball. He heard distorted cries, but it could be his own or from something else. It sounded too human, yet too eerie to be one. He saw red and green among the woods, looking almost <em>concerned</em>.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Two</em>.</p><p>The moment Tubbo gathered himself and returned to L’Manburg, he saw Skeppy and Sapnap in the outskirts. Skeppy was ghostly thin, cheeks sunken and hoodie unbearably saggy whereas it’s been a perfect fit before. He looked worse for wear, but he stayed strong for Sapnap who was lying on his lap, burying his head into Skeppy’s bony stomach with his arms wrapped around his waist. It was odd; seeing the notorious pet killer break down and cry into someone, completely vulnerable and unarmed. He walked by as quietly as possible to give them their privacy.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Three</em>.</p><p>Once he got back to L’Manburg, he saw Tommy, Philza, Techno and Wilbur having a talk on the wooden platform, right before Techno’s execution stand. Techno was visibly uneasy as he stood the furthest from the cage. It was then Tubbo realized that Technoblade was a human being that breathes and fears, just like him. Tommy looked smaller from how he was hunched over and hugging his arms, and Philza had his wing around Tommy to comfort him. Wilbur looked more at ease and joked around here and then, only because he was surrounded by the people he grew up with. As Tubbo walked past them, Tommy turned to him despite his footsteps being silent, like his senses had been thoroughly enhanced. For a split second, their eyes met, but Tommy looked away just as quick and back to the ground.</p><p>Tubbo tried to not cry for another time, heading back to his office with the largest strides his legs would allow him. Unfortunately, he did not have long legs and the walk back was way too long in his eyes.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>You’re out</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo drew a shaky breath, clutching his chest. The needles in his badges pieced his palm, drawing blood that trickled down his wrist.</p><p>How did it all become so much of a mess?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sapnap doesn’t have many regrets. He’d murdered many pets in cold blood, cut his best friend from his life entirely, and leave home without so much as a note. If anything, he feels too <em>little</em> regret. Grief and sadness were strangers to him, where only maniacal euphoria and adrenaline were his close friends. But now, like how he left Dream’s side, the roar in his ears was nowhere to be heard.</p><p>For all the things he did, he’d never had to apologize. The word “sorry” just doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. Matter of fact, the only time where someone’s gotten a peep out of him was Bad, who made him cry after a lecture when Sapnap mangled a bird in their backyard. Bad had made him feel so bad, to feel the consequences because he’d hurt something else. It was the first and last time he’d felt remorse, and it was only because of Bad. Bad was the only one who could make him hang his head and cry, and no one else. Not even Skeppy, who’d helped raise him for the majority of his life.</p><p>But now, Bad was gone. Skeppy tells him that he’s not dead yet, that he can still be saved. But Sapnap knows a corpse when he sees one. He sees Bad’s lifeless body and feels his cold hand in his. No pulse, no light, no anything. The red vines that seep through his bloodstream had taken every last drop, bleaching his lifeblood dead white until there was nothing left in him. <em>Bad’s gone. My father is dead</em>.</p><p>Sapnap doesn’t say it to Skeppy’s face, because he knows he’s trying to be optimistic. He knows from Skeppy’s eyes that he can’t take anymore shock than this; any little change would shatter the lie he made for himself. Skeppy’s not ready to face reality, but Sapnap is not as volatile as he was. As much as he loved Bad and grieved for his loss, he’s been in more wars than Skeppy and understood how loss was an irreversible and unavoidable factor in life.</p><p>But it doesn’t make him hurt any less. <em>Understanding</em> makes it so much worse. Sapnap would rather be ignorant, holding onto false hope that lessened his pain. Bad won’t ruffle his hair whenever Sapnap comes over or make him mushroom stew. Bad can’t <em>language</em> him whenever he so much as breathed the f-word. He used to find those moments annoying, but he would give anything to hear it again. To hear him healthy and safe and strong, not like the body he was reduced to.</p><p>Sapnap has to be strong. In Skeppy’s arms, it alarmed him to how thin and weak he was. Skeppy wasn’t supposed to be either of those. He was muscled and lean and quick on his feet, always faster than him and ready to trip Sapnap with his ankle. The bags under his eyes were so prominent and his skin was so sickly pale that he might as well be mistaken as a dead body.</p><p>Too much has happened when Sapnap was away. It’s only been a few months, yet his parents have gone through hell and back without him even realizing.</p><p>He should have been there for them.</p><p>He should have been there <em>with</em> them.</p><p>He should have taken their place instead of them.</p><p>“Bad will be fine,” Skeppy whispered, voice shaking as he ran his hand through Sapnap’s hair. “He always is. He won’t just leave…” <em>Leave me. Leave you. Leave </em>us.</p><p>Sapnap sobbed and hid his tears from view. For now, he only wanted to be a child comforted and held by his father, even if it was selfish.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sam had been sitting by Bad’s deathbed for longer than he bothered to count.</p><p>He really shouldn’t be calling it his deathbed. Bad could still be alive. Sam wished he’d studied medical sciences more – so he would know what the everloving Notch was going on. He knew how machines ticked and he could fix them easy, and they would always do their expected job. But living beings? They were different. Sicknesses and plagues and meltdowns were all unpredictable; and unlike machines, they could hide their wounds and pretend everything was fine, until it was all too late and there was nothing left to salvage.</p><p>They put Bad on a bed and a blanket over his body, but not his head. They deemed him as savable, but Sam didn’t see how. His heart had stopped beating and he was cold. The only thing that was keeping his body from rotting were the goddamn vines still in him, nesting and infesting him and turning him into an abomination.</p><p>Sam wondered whether if the vines were still alive in him; eating his organs and twisting his insides to make something bigger – that they’ll burst from his chest and swallow L’Manburg whole. It was a possibility, but not a welcome one.</p><p>It was only a matter of time that they’ll accept that Bad is gone and they have to let <em>go</em>. But there was no way there would be a proper funeral. Bad’s condition was too risky to be buried in the ground. The bet way to ensure the rest of their safeties was to burn him into ashes until nothing was left.</p><p>Bad was always wary of fire. He strayed far from them, and barely tolerated them when Sapnap started showing symptoms of his blazeling heritage. But he never liked the flames, not even a little bit.</p><p>Sam can only pray that if push comes to shove, he’ll still look over them from the afterlife.</p><p>Sam looked up as the infirmary door swung open, revealing a friendly figure in netherite. Ant looked equally as exhausted, but his eyes were puffy as if he’d been crying. He’d known Bad since they were children, after all, it must have shaken him to his core to even come see Bad in this condition.</p><p>“Hey,” Sam greeted, but there was no energy in his voice. They were equally exhausted mentally and physically.</p><p>Ant took the chair across Sam, with Bad’s bed between them. He wiped his eyes and linked his fingers on his lap. “We need to talk.”</p><p>Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and sitting upright. Ant sounded so serious and dire, it worried him. How hard had this entire thing affected him? Velvet’s become a monster and Bad’s the first victim. God, he could only wonder how he felt about everything.</p><p>But what came out of Ant’s mouth was <em>not</em> what he expected.</p><p>“I did this,” Ant deadpanned. “Everything. Velvet, what happened with Bad—it’s my doing, and my fault.”</p><p>Sam wasn’t sure if he heard Ant right. “Excuse me?”</p><p>Ant grit his teeth and leaned forward. “<em>Everything</em> that just happened,” he repeated painstakingly, like the words were stakes digging into his throat, “is because of <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Ant told him everything. From the beginning where he found a Book, towards feeding the egg that’s been hidden underground for months, and witnessing the Egg hatching to reveal a monster with Velvet’s face.</p><p>Ant peeled his glove open to reveal a black, mauled scar on his palm. “I gave up my blood in the ritual,” he confessed, wincing at the wound that’s long healed. “I thought that was the price I had to pay. I thought it was that <em>simple</em>.”</p><p>Sam turned as white as a sheet. He didn’t know when, but he’d shot to his feet in horror.</p><p>“So—” Sam choked. “Ghosts suddenly coming back—the dead returning to life—<em>Bad</em>—that was all <em>you</em>?”</p><p>“I didn’t know about that!” Ant snapped. “It was an old book. Most of the contents were eroded by time, and I was lucky to be able to read it in the first place!”</p><p>Sam stormed over to Ant, hands clenched as if ready to swing a punch, but he didn’t. Instead of anger or a scowl, he looked crestfallen. He looked <em>betrayed</em>.</p><p>“So why did you?” Sam asked, voice raising. “You found a random old book and just… <em>followed </em>it? Don’t you know old books or papers can carry curses from other eras? Didn’t you read about the Fallen Kingdom? The Apocalypse?”</p><p>“It’s not some random old book!” Ant clapped back.</p><p>“Then where did you find it? How did you find it?”</p><p>Ant chewed his lip.</p><p>“In Pogtopia,” he said. “When Techno and Tommy kidnapped me, Tubbo led me to a hidden door. He told me it held the secrets of the past and everything after. That <em>it was the key to the universe</em>.” He held his palm, looking down.</p><p>“He called it the Archives.”</p><p> </p>
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